C:\Users\John\Downloads\NOP\PN Elrod - [Vampire Files 05] -
Fire_in_the_Blood_v1.1_(BD).pdb
PDB Name:
PN Elrod - [Vampire Files 05] -
Creator ID:
REAd
PDB Type:
TEXt
Version:
0
Unique ID Seed:
0
Creation Date:
25/12/2007
Modification Date:
25/12/2007
Last Backup Date:
01/01/1970
Modification Number:
0
This document was generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter program
Fire in the Blood
Vampire Files
Book V
P.N. Elrod
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Chapter One
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 1
I WAS IN the process of tearing away the top half of Olivia Vandemore’s
silver-spangled evening gown when Escott abruptly opened the basement door and
called my name.
“Are you down there?” His voice was necessarily pitched to carry through a
brick wall.
“In a minute,” I growled back.
The last fragile strap gave way under feverish, brutal hands. A terrible
shriek of pure horror rushed from her perfect coral lips and echoed throughout
the dank stone passages.
“Jack?” He was coming down the basement steps.
Her warm, white body writhed helplessly on the carved stone altar—an altar
stained black with the Wood of uncounted victims hideously sacrificed to slake
the unholy thirst of…
“Jack?” He rapped a knuckle experimentally against the wall of my inner
sanctum.
… Sabajajji, the Spider God.
I hit the period and debated whether to turn it into an exclamation point. A
quick look through the other pages confirmed that I hadn’t used one for some
time now, and it seemed appropriate for the scene. The reader was going to be
far more concerned with the upcoming description of Olivia’s writhing body
than my punctuation. I backspaced, tapped the apostrophe key, and rolled out
the sheet, adding it to the stack of deathless prose next to my portable.
Further excitement would have to wait until after I found out what the hell
Escott wanted.
“I was working, you know,” I told him, emerging wraithlike from the basement
wall and solidifying. It’d taken a couple of months, but he’d finally gotten
used to such stunts from me—at least on those occasions when he expected it.
This time he’d expected me to be behind a bricked-up alcove in his basement,
so it was hardly worth his notice.
“Sorry,” he said, his nervous fingers absently jingling his key ring. He was
wearing his hat and coat.
“Something up?” I asked, tying my bathrobe. I’d started writing as soon as
I’d woken up and hadn’t bothered to dress.
“I believe so. I may have a job for us and thought you’d like to come along
and meet our prospective client.”
This wasn’t his usual method of work, which was being a private detective,
though he preferred to be called a private agent. Most of the time he’d have
some job already in progress and only asked me in if he needed extra help. I
always tried to keep a low profile and rarely saw the client. The fewer people
who knew about me, the better.
“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” I hedged, reluctant to be dragged
away from Olivia’s impending sacrifice and last-second rescue. “Or are you
getting a fishy smell off this one?” Sometimes he’d have me come along to
watch his back.
“Such niceties of personal judgment are most difficult to ascertain,
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 2
especially since I’ve had no actual contact with the client. I can positively
state that the gentleman is determined, if nothing else, and possessed of some
degree of consideration, in that he was kind enough to send his chauffeur over
to make sure I did not miss his requested appointment.” followed the cant of
his eyes up the basement steps to the hall door. As he spoke, the doorway—the
entire doorway—was blocked by the presence of a uniformed Negro. He was built
like an industrial-grade refrigerator. Escott couldn’t really say anything in
so many words, but this was definitely one of those times when he wanted
someone to watch his back.
“So, what’s the client’s name?” I asked, all interest now.
“Sebastian Pierce,” he said.
“Never heard of him.”
“He was quite a large noise inChicago some twenty-five years ago. After
making a fortune from various investments, he then retired to enjoy it.”
“We should all be so lucky.”
“And this is his chauffeur, Mr. Griffin.”
Griffinnodded once at me. “Good evening, sir.” The amused look on his face
indicated that he’d noticed the pajamas and bathrobe.
“Good evening,” I returned, and tried to look dignified in spite of the
unconventional surroundings. Maybe Escott had told him I was checking the
furnace. “What time’s this appointment?”
“Eight o’clock. We can just make it if you hurry.” Escott turned and trotted
lightly up the basement steps, pausing only a moment at the top soGriffin
could vacate the doorway. He hardly made a sound. Maybe Escott wanted me to
cover him, but who the hell was supposed to cover me? I gave an inward shrug
and followed. For the time being Olivia would just have to wait at the altar.
Escott and I started rooming together a couple weeks after the night I woke
up dead on aLake Michigan beach. He owned a three-story brick relic that had
been a bordello in less innocent days. It had plenty of space and we’d both
agreed that it offered me more privacy than a hotel. We shared the bills and I
had two rooms upstairs with my own bath, but when writing, the basement was my
exclusive territory. The intervening floors served as soundproofing, so the
clack of my typewriter in the wee morning hours didn’t disturb what little
sleep his insomnia allowed him.
I’m up so late and only after dark because I’m a vampire.
Just like the folklore says, I drink blood for sustenance—usually at the
Union Stockyards every other night, depending how active I am. The cattle
there don’t seem to mind. Human blood has its own special appeal, but like
most people, I keep my nourishment separate from my sex life.
I don’t have any aversion to crosses, garlic, or silver, though I do have a
problem with wood and crossing free-flowing water. I can’t turn into a bat or
wolf, but can disappear, float around, and even walk through walls if
required. Most of the time I use doors—it’s less conspicuous.
During the day I’m stretched out on a fairly comfortable folding bed that has
a layer of my home earth sewn up in a long, flat sheet of oilcloth. The bed is
in Escott’s basement, hidden behind a fire-resistant brick wall that he’d
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 3
built himself. The tiny room beyond is located exactly under the kitchen, and
Escott had thoughtfully fitted a trap into the floor there for emergencies. It
was well hidden by his carpentry skill and a throw rug. I don’t have a coffin.
I hate coffins.
The room’s pretty stark, but during the day I don’t notice much of anything.
It has an air shaft to the outside, electricity for the work light and radio,
and a photo of my girlfriend Bobbi for decoration. My typewriter rests on a
wide shelf attached to the wall. I enjoy the privacy when writing, but do my
real living in my rooms on the second floor. There I keep my clothes and a
comfortable scatter of magazines and books, and succeed in pretending that I’m
no different from any other human. But the bed in the corner was for show
only, and no mirror hangs over the dresser.
Tonight I picked out a plain dark silk tie to go with my second-best midnight
blue suit. It was conservative without overdoing it. though next to Escott, I
always look a little flashy. He feels the same way about double-breasted suits
as I do about coffins and wouldn’t be caught dead in one.
Escott andGriffin were in the parlor.Griffin was sitting on the edge of the
big leather chair, his visored hat on one massive knee. He stood up smoothly
as I came down. I couldn’t figure his age, he had one of those thirty-to-fifty
faces. Escott got up from the sofa and led the way out, locking up behind us.
A minute later we were driving away in a shiny new Packard withGriffin at the
wheel.
“Any idea where we’re going?” I murmured to Escott, though there was a glass
divider between the front and back.
He opened his mouth, shut it, and shook his head once, looking slightly
embarrassed. “I asked all the usual questions, but Mr. Griffin deigned to
answer only the most basic: the name of his employer and the time of the
appointment.”
“Nothing else, huh?”
“If his purpose was to inflict bodily harm upon my person, I think it would
have happened by now. At least he had no objections to my request to have you
along.”
“If you feel so trusting, then why bring me at all?”
“I’m merely applying your own philosophy of not taking chances. Mr. Griffin
did give me the impression that he wouldn’t have been at all pleased had I
refused his request to come.”
He had a definite point there. I was much stronger than I looked because of
my changed condition, butGriffin was not someone I’d cheerfully go up against
just to see what happened.
“My belated apologies for dragging you from your work. How is it
progressing?”
“Just peachy.” I had a fanciful mental picture of the editor ofSpicy Terror
Talesbreathlessly awaiting my latest contribution to the slush pile. Several
years of background in journalism notwithstanding, my literary career at this
point had been anything but lucrative, so my partnership with Escott was a
financial necessity. Vampires spend money like everyone else.
Griffindrove to a quiet street with only one open business at this hour, a
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 4
bar called the Stumble Inn. He parked in front, got out, and opened the car
door for us.
“You’ll find Mr. Pierce at the last table on the left,” he told us.
“On the left,” repeated Escott, as though such meetings were normal for him.
Griffingently shut the door, folded his arms, and leaned against the Packard,
causing it to tilt a little. It was a freezing night, but he seemed to be as
indifferent to the cold as I. He was breathing regularly, though, which meant
he was human, after all. That was a relief.
We went inside. The bar lined one long wall and the man behind it had his ear
pressed to a radio that was giving out with more static than program. The
place had tables, but no booths, and as promised, only one customer in the
back on the left.
He stood up as we came close, a tall, weedy-looking man with a lion’s mane of
wavy white hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a monumental nose. His handshake was
dry and firm.
“Well, I thought there’d be only one of you, but I don’t mind the extra
company if it’ll get the job done,” he said in a soft, gravelly voice. “I’m
Sebastian Pierce, which one of you is Escott?”
“I am Charles Escott, Mr. Pierce. This is my business associate, Jack
Fleming.”
“Pleased.” He nodded at me, then turned back to Escott as we sat down
together. “English, are you? Is that aLondon accent?”
“Yes.”
Pierce found it amusing for some reason and asked if we wanted a drink. I
declined, but Escott said he’d have whatever Pierce was having, which amused
him even more.
“Don’t know as you’d like it, since it’s only sarsaparilla. I got slinking
drunk once in my life and swore never to repeat the experience.”
“Sarsaparilla will be fine.”
Pierce signed to the bartender, who brought over an open bottle and a glass,
then returned to hunch over his radio.
“You think I’m some sort of lunatic, Mr. Fleming?” he questioned, reading my
open-book mug correctly.
There were deep-set humor lines all over his face. It had been well lived in
for the last sixty years or so, but they’d been good years. “I must know a
hundred stories about what happens to the guy who walks into a bar and asks
for what you’re drinking,” I said.
“Nonsense, you’re only old enough to know two or three of those at the most.”
I was in my mid-thirties, but looked a lot younger. I didn’t bother to
correct him and only shook my head a little.
“I happen to own this place,” he said, moving his half-full glass around in
smeary circles with long, flat fingers. On one of them, a huge ring made from
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 5
chunks of cut-up gold coins winked happily in the dim light. “It’s usually
busier, but tonight I wanted some privacy, so DCS here shooed out the regulars
for the time being. Griff will make sure no one else comes in.”
That was for damned sure.
Escott sipped his foamy drink without visible harm. “You mentioned a job, Mr.
Pierce.”
“Yes.” He pulled out a photograph of a fancy-looking bracelet. It was covered
in diamonds and some darker stones arranged in a spiral pattern. If the
picture were life size the bracelet would be about an inch wide. “I was
inParis before the war and had this specially commissioned as a gift to my
wife for our fifth wedding anniversary. It was and is unique, and as you can
imagine, quite valuable, both in terms of hard cash and soft sentiment.”
“What is it made of?”
“Diamonds and rubies on platinum. When my wife died some years ago, I put all
her jewelry in the safe until our daughter came of age. Marian had her
twenty-first birthday last month and took charge of it all, according to her
mother’s wishes.”
“And this piece?”
“Has been stolen. I want it back, but quietly. I don’t want publicity, and I
don’t want the police.”
“Have you an idea who took it?”
“Oh, yes. Marian’s best friend Kitty has a boyfriend. Now, Kitty is a little
doll, but it’s a sad fact that the sweetest girls can hook up with the most
rotten men, and that’s the case with her and Stan. He can put on a smooth kind
of charm and generally fool those too young to know better, but it’s all show.
I’ve met his type before and they’re always out for whatever they can get away
with. Anyway, the two of them were over at our house for a Christmas party
last week and I expect that that’s when the bracelet was taken.”
“But you’ve no proof?”
“Nothing I can go to the police with, but I wouldn’t go to them, anyway.”
“A week is a long time, Mr. Pierce.”
“I only found out about it today.”
“He may have pawned or fenced it by now.”
“You think you’ll be able to trace it if he has?”
“There are no guarantees, but we can try, if he is the culprit. Who else was
at this party?”
“Myself, Marian, her current boyfriend Harry Summers, Kitty Donovan, Stan
McAlister, and the servants who were working that night. They’ve been with us
for years, though. It was Marian’s maid who first told me about it.”
“The circumstances?”
“Marian usually leaves the valuable stuff lying around on her dresser mixed
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 6
in with the rest of her costume jewelry. I know it’s careless, I’ve nagged her
on it more than once, but in our house it was safe enough until now. Her maid
was cleaning and straightening today and noticed that the bracelet was gone.
She asked me if Marian had finally put it in the house safe. We checked, but
she hadn’t, so we went over her room again.”
“Marian did not wear the bracelet today?”
“No, or in the last week, we’re sure of that.”
“And she has not noticed it’s gone missing?”
“No. As I said, she’s very careless.”
“Has anyone else been in the house since the party?”
Pierce shook his head decisively.
“Could Marian have taken it herself?”
“If I thought that I wouldn’t have to hire you.”
“What made you choose me?”
“I didn’t, you’re Griff’s idea.”
“Indeed?”
“He said you came highly recommended by a friend of his. Shoe something.”
“Shoe Coldfield?”
“I think that was the name.”
Escott glanced at me, one eyebrow bounced, and a smile tugged briefly at the
corner of his mouth. Coldfield was now a gang boss inChicago ’s “Bronze Belt,”
but he’d shared some lean times on the stage with Escott in a traveling
Shakespeare company years ago. Once in a while he threw some business in our
direction, just to say hello.
Pierce continued. “Normally I’d ask Griff to handle something like this, but
we thought it better to hire someone a little less noticeable for the job.
Griff is a bit… tall, and McAlister knows him.”
“And if Stan McAlister should happen to mention the encounter to your
daughter…”
“I’ll be accused of doing all sorts of things for her own good,” he concluded
with a sigh of long suffering, and shrugged. “She’s my daughter, but I’m
damned if I know what’s going on in her mind all the time. She would accuse me
of being too nosy or something. She likes to think she’s very independent and
bitterly resents any implication to the contrary. If you have, or ever have,
children you’ll know what I mean. All I want is to get the bracelet back.
After that it’s going into the safe until I’m gone, and then she can do what
she likes with it.”
“Assuming we’re able to locate the bracelet, have you a preference for any
particular method of recovery?”
“Since it was stolen, I thought you could steal it back. Stan wouldn’t dare
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 7
squawk.”
“If he’s fenced it already, we may have to purchase it—if it is still in one
piece.”
He grimaced. “I hope it is, or Marian’s feelings or not, I’ll have Griff fold
the little punk in two the wrong way. The bracelet’s insured for fifteen
thousand, I’ll go that high, but would appreciate if you could bargain things
down to the lowest possible amount.”
“We’ll see what we can do. I unfortunately do not have any of my standard
contracts with me.”
Pierce pulled out a wallet and casually gave us each a hundred-dollar bill.
It was a sumptuous retainer when compared to Escott’s usual rate. “That’s all
the paperwork I think you’ll need for now, Mr. Escott. If Griff trusts you, I
can trust you. If the trust is misplaced, then Griff has waysofevening the
score.”
“Of that I have no doubts. We’ll need a description of Mr. McAlister. In
fact, I would like one of all the principals.”
He was prepared and gave Escott a sheet of paper with names, addresses, and a
list of McAlister’s favorite haunts. He also produced another photo. “I took
this at the party, it’s a little harsh because I didn’t get the flash right,
but they’re recognizable. That’s my daughter.” He pointed to a sleek brunette.
“Fortunately for her, she took after her mother in looks. Unfortunately for
me, she has my temperament and quite a lot of her own, besides. The handsome
fellow next to her is Harry, and the two blonds are Kitty Donovan and Stan
McAlister.”
Escott carefully checked it over. “What does Mr. McAlister do?”
“Not very damn much, as far as I can tell. Stan has a taste for gambling and
no inclination to work.”
“Does Kitty work?”
“Yes, but mostly for amusement. Her parents left her with a comfortable
trust. She augments it by designing hats for one of the big stores around
here, custom stuff. She glues a few feathers and sequins to a strip of ribbon
and charges a fortune for it. That’s how she met Marian.”
“What about Mr. Summers?”
“Harry’s from a decent family. Not much money, but good people. Marian met
him while he was working as a waiter at some party. He’d worked his way
through school that way and now he’s trying to start up his own business in
radio repair, so I give him credit for some ambition.”
“Does he also gamble?”
“No, Harry’s pretty much of a tight fist with his money, which is sensible if
you don’t carry it too far.”
“You think he does?”
Pierce nodded, amused again.
“You approve of him, though?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 8
“He’s a cut above most of the losers Marian’s brought home, but I’m not
taking it too seriously. She changes boyfriends as frequently as I change
socks. She’ll fasten onto someone else when she gets tired of going to the
park and museums with Harry. They’re free, you know.”
“Does Marian work?”
“Has hell frozen over lately?”
Escott almost laughed. “Where may I reach you?”
Pierce mumbled and growled a little under his breath, and reluctantly parted
with his home phone number. “But don’t call it you can help it, I’ll check
with you every evening at about five.”
We wound things up and left Pierce at the bar ordering another sarsaparilla.
AsGriffin drove us back home, Escott studied the party photo by the
intermittent light from the street lamps.
“An interesting group, wouldn’t you say?” he asked.
“I guess so. Funny how he’s so leery of his daughter finding out about any of
this.”
“The extent that some fathers are dominated by their offspring would probably
astonish you, and a man may go to absurd lengths in order to preserve the
illusion of peace in his household.”
“While disrupting others,” I added.
“Yes, he did initiate this business in a somewhat unorthodox manner. At least
it added a touch of interest to an otherwise commonplace case.”
“That’s what you figure?”
“This time, yes. The man didn’t strike me as a fool. If he thinks McAlister
took the bracelet, then it’s likely to be true. We have only to find the
fellow and verify things one way or another.”
“Sure you need my help, then?”
“Most certainly. I could cover all of the places listed here alone, but it
will go faster for your assistance… Tell me, is Miss Smythe still headlining
at the Top Hat?”
“For another month yet.” Two weeks ago Bobbi had landed the star spot singing
in one ofChicago ’s best nightclubs.
“Now, that is most convenient. It’s down here as a place frequented by Stan
McAlister.”
I could see what he had in mind a mile off. “Aw, now don’t go asking me to
mix Bobbi up with this business.”
“Miss Smythe need not be involved. All you have to do is look the place over
and see if McAlister is present. Don’t you visit there each night, anyway?”
“Yeah, but only just before closing so I can drive Bobbi home. Her boss said
no husbands or boyfriends during working hours for any of the girls, no
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 9
exceptions. He thinks they take up valuable space.”
“He can’t object if you’re a paying customer. Mr. Pierce’s retainer should be
more than sufficient to cover your expenses for now.”
He’d made up his mind, so there wasn’t much point arguing with him. Chances
were, McAlister would be in some other joint and I could take Bobbi home as
usual, with the added bonus of getting paid to catch her show. “Okay, I’ll go
have a look. What’ll you be doing?”
“Checking some of his other haunts, and then I’ll run by his hotel to see if
he’s in. If I find him, then I can sort things out right away.”
Griffindropped us at home and drove unhurriedly away, the Packard’s exhaust a
thick, swirling fume in the winter air.
“How you plan to handle it?” I asked Escott as I walked to my car and
unlocked it.
“I’m leaving myself a wide range of options by not deciding that until I’ve
met the man. If he’s reasonable, I’ll reason with him. If not…” He spread his
hands in a speculative gesture and walked away, taking the narrow alley
between his building and the next so he could get his Nash out of the garage
in back.
Since my suit was good enough for the Top Hat, I could start right away as
well. The sooner we got the bracelet back, the sooner I could return to the
typewriter and rescue Olivia from a horrible fate at the hands of the dreaded
spider cult.
My mind was busy with permutations on the story’s ending as I made a U-turn
and followedGriffin ’s route out of the neighborhood. I was halfway to the
club before I noticed the car following me. A couple of turns later and I was
certain about the tail; not a new experience, but decidedly uncomfortable. For
the time being I did nothing and drove to the Top Hat. As I parked, the coupe
drifted past, looking for a spot of its own. It was a neat little foreign job
I’d never seen before, driven by a woman who looked vaguely familiar. Maybe
she was some friend of Bobbi’s, but I didn’t think so. I left my car, walked
in the club entrance, and offered my hat and coat to the check girl.
The claim ticket was hardly in my pocket when the other driver charged
through the door, looking a little breathless. She spotted me looking at her,
pretended not to notice, and marched past to toss a wide silver fox wrap at
the girl. She made quite a business of putting away her own ticket in her tiny
purse and then pretended a vast interest in a placard advertising the club’s
entertainment. I hung around the lobby, not making it easy for her.
A noisy group came in and she used them as an excuse to glance around, but I
was still looking right at her. She flushed deep pink and went back to
riddling with her purse again, this time pulling out a cigarette case. I
crossed the dozen feet separating us and fired up my lighter. Startled, her
eyes flicked up to meet mine. They were huge, very round, and a pure and
lovely blue. Her thick sable hair fell back freely from cream-colored
shoulders. They were bare except for two braided metallic straps holding up
the silver sheath of her evening gown.
“Thank you,” she said, and lighted her cigarette. She briefly locked eyes
again, made a decision, and blinked prettily. “What’s your name?”
“Jack. What’s yours?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 10
She giggled, schoolgirl seductive, and shook her head, letting her hair swing
a little.
I recognized her now and wasn’t happy about it. Sebastian Pierce had been
very insistent about keeping his daughter ignorant of his business.
“You always follow strange men around?”
“Only the ones I might like.”
“That can be dangerous, Miss Pierce.”
Her head jerked in surprise, then her eyes dropped. “So I’ve been found out.
Are you going to tell Daddy?” She looked up from under her bangs, as
appealingly as possible.
“Depends. Why don’t you drop the high school flirt act and we talk about it?”
Now she did blink. I might as well have smacked her face with a wet towel.
“You—”
“You’re right, and if you’re so innocent, you shouldn’t even know such
words.”
She took another breath, held it, and indecision flashed over her face. She
would either cuss me out or smile. I got lucky and she burst into laughter;
the genuine article this time.
“Drink?” I gestured to the bar in the lounge, a smaller, quieter room away
from the stage show.
“Why not?”
As we turned to leave., I heard the orchestra finish its fanfare and Bobbi’s
voice soared up, filling the next room. I couldn’t help but pause, and it was
a physical effort to resist the urge to go in and see her.
“Something wrong?”
I was a man in love and bound to turn sappy at any given moment. “No, not a
thing.” Marian Pierce latched on to my arm and led off in the wrong direction.
Not that she didn’t promise to be attractive company and was part of the job
at hand, but she just wasn’t Bobbi.
A waiter read the signs right, at least the ones Marian was giving out, and
seated us in the back, behind a row of short palm trees. She ordered scotch
and water. I ordered only the water.
“Trust Daddy to find another teetotaler,” she said, pretending world-weary
disapproval.
“I drink, but not on the job.”
“Oh, are you working or something?”
“Would you have followed me if I weren’t?”
She puffed on her cigarette and thought it over. “Actually, I was following
Daddy.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 11
“Any reason why?”
“No.”
It was going to be one of those nights. “Then you started following me. Any
reason for that?”
She smiled, trying to charm her way out again. “I liked your looks better
than your partner’s.”
And maybe she thought she could more easily get around someone who seemed to
be closer to her own age. “I’ll be sure and tell him.”
“No, promise you won’t tell anyone you saw me.”
“Daddy wouldn’t like it?”
Her eyes went down. “Something like that. Why did he hire you?”
“Your father is a client, which means I don’t talk about his business. You
won’t talk about yours, either. We’re not going to get anywhere fast like
this, Miss Pierce. One of us needs to go home.”
“My name’s Marian, but then if you’re following me, you already know that.”
“Why do you think I’m following you?”
“I really wouldn’t know. Daddy… well… maybe he thinks I’m just a teeny-weenie
bit too wild.” She was back doing the vulnerable-little-girl act again. Any
more of it and, job or no job, I’d leave to watch the rest of Bobbi’s show.
Escott could have my half of the retainer and good riddance to it.
“Why?” Impatience crept into my tone. It couldn’t be helped, I was impatient.
“I can’t really talk about it. But really, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“Well, that’s too bad, then.” I made to go and she caught my arm.
“No, please wait.”
“For more runaround? Make up your mind, lady.”
“All right. You can’t tell me why you were hired, but can you tell me why you
weren’t?”
“Maybe.”
“Did my father want you to spy on me?”
“No.”
She sighed. “Well, that’s something, at least.”
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing, but I do like to know what’s going on around me. Daddy still treats
me like a six-year-old.” Her drink arrived and she put half of it away as
though it were my glass of water. “How many six-year-olds can do that, Mr… ?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 12
“Jack Fleming,” I reminded her.
“That’s a nice name. Why did you come to the Top Hat if you weren’t spying on
me?”
“My girlfriend works here.”
“You would have a girlfriend, wouldn’t you?” She pretended hurt. “Which one
is she?”
“Let’s never mind that.”
Her face lit up with wicked mischief. “If you say so.” She abruptly leaned
over and fastened her mouth to mine like a lamprey on a fish. I could taste
the scotch on her tongue. She fell back, looking flushed and triumphant, and
finished the rest of her drink.
“Any reason for doing that?” I asked.
“Because I felt like it.”
“That can be dangerous, too, you know.”
“Oh, pooh, you’re all right.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“That works both ways, darling. I could be a terrible vamp.” She leaned back
in the booth, crossing her arms to emphasize her cleavage.
“Then I’d better get out of here while my virtue’s still intact.”
“What?”
“Marian, you’re a wonderful girl, but I have to be going.”
“But why?”
“Uh-uh, we’ve already been down that street. I can’t talk and you won’t, and
that makes for a dull evening.”
She uncrossed her arms and moved in closer. I braced myself for another
assault. This time I tasted the cigarette mixed in with the scotch. She
released me, but didn’t fall back. “It’s about time you learned there’s more
you can do with your lips than talk,” she stated, her voice husky and mature
all of a sudden.
I showed my teeth and shook my head. It was safe enough to do this time; my
canines hadn’t lengthened by even a fraction of an inch. Like I said, she
wasn’t Bobbi. “Thanks, but maybe some other night, sister.”
“Don’t you like me?”
“Kid, you make a great first impression. I’m going to remember you for the
rest of my life…”
Then some bozo grabbed a fistful of my suit and yanked me from the booth onto
the floor. What breath I’d drawn in order to talk got knocked out when I
landed, not that he gave me much chance to say anything. Marian screeched a
name, which I didn’t catch, because the guy slammed into my ear with his knee.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 13
My head took a wild spin in the other direction, and I flopped out flat with
the man towering over me like a building.
He got his balance fixed and carefully drew back one of his rough leather
toes to kick my skull into the next county. I could disappear and let his foot
sail through empty air, but this was the wrong place for that kind of fancy
work—too many people and too many eyes. Just in time, I got my hand up and
caught his ankle. He grunted at the initial shock and then gasped when I
squeezed and twisted. He had to turn with it or suffer a green-stick fracture.
Arms pinwheeling, he hopped once on his other foot and crashed into a waiter
who had come up to stop the ruckus.
Both of them were on the floor in a sloppy football scramble. The guy that
hit me started to hit the waiter, but I still had his ankle and gave it a
sharp pull to remind him. He grunted out a very ripe curse, which upset some
lady into calling for the manager at the top of her lungs. Another woman told
her to shut up and a drunk said he would put ten bucks on the skinny guy in
blue.
“Harry, howcouldyou?” This from Marian, who had slid from the booth and was
standing over us both.
Harry was in no mood to discuss motives and tried to kick me with his free
foot. He hit my collarbone—hurting, but not breaking it—then he tried to slam
sideways and get my other ear. I got my hand up in time again and twisted him
pigeon-toed. He yelped, sat up, and tried once more to belt me, this time with
his fists.
The waiter spoiled his aim by crawling out from under him just as another man
was coming up. Together they tried to haul Harry away from me. I released my
grip, still plenty mad, but content to let them handle him until it became
clear they’d want help themselves. I got my feet under me, leaned over, and
carefully pulled the punch I poked into Harry’s gut. He only needed the breath
knocked from him, not burst organs.
It worked. You can’t fight if you can’t breathe, and normal humans do need
air on a regular basis. Harry stopped struggling with the waiters and rolled
on his side, probably burning one of his own ears for a change as he scraped
against the carpet. He made choking sounds trying to refill his lungs.
A man in a tux appeared, took the situation in with an experienced eye, and
jerked his head toward the exit. The waiters picked Harry up and marched him
away, presumably to throw him out. He didn’t fight them, but his mottled red
face was eloquent. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be in for an ambush when I went
out for my car.
“I apologize, sir, I trust you are not injured?” The tux was not a happy man.
I told him I was fine, and then he apologized to the dozen or so people who
had watched with varying degrees of interest. Two or three left, and the rest
settled down to discuss the fight and wait for signs of more entertainment.
I straightened and dusted my suit, took Marian’s arm, and made a decent exit
myself as far as the lobby before stopping to square off with her. “Okay, who
was he?” I already knew, but had appearances to keep up.
“Nobody important. Are you all right?” Her face was bright with excitement.
“Give me a name.”
“Just some guy I used to date.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 14
I kept looking at her.
Exasperation superseded the excitement. “Harry Summers,” she snapped. “Is
nosiness a part of your profession? No, forget I asked, the answer’s got to be
yes.”
“I always like to get the name of anyone who sucker-punches me.”
“Harry’s got a jealous streak a mile wide. I’m really very sorry.” Her
apology was light, just words she was expected to say. Her mind was on
something else.
“I think you should run along now, the management is figuring that we’re bad
for business.”
She saw the tux talking with another tux and both were looking our way. “I’m
not worried about them.”
“I am. I don’t want my girl to get canned because of this.”
“They wouldn’t do that,” she said with the airy confidence of the unemployed
rich.
“Don’t bet on it.”
“Then come with me. I know a very quiet place that Harry doesn’t—”
“Excuse me, sir.” It was the second tux and he knew me by sight if not by
name. He’d seen me pick Bobbi up at the stage exit often enough.
“Never mind, I was just leaving.”
“I think that would be best, sir.”
I redeemed my hat and coat, Marian got her fox wrap, and we left with as much
dignity as we could muster. It wasn’t much; Marian started giggling before we
were out the door.
“Did you see the look on Harry’s face?”
“Yeah, we could sell tickets.”
“My car’s right over here.” She steered me off to the left. I went along,
keeping an eye out for Summers. Marian opened the passenger door, slid in
first, and patted the leather seat for me to join her.
“Uh-uh. Time to say good night.”
She shook her head in amused disbelief, then realized with a shock that I was
serious. “But I want you to come with me.”
“Not tonight, sweetheart.” I shut the door on her. She flopped across the
seat to try and open it again and, failing that, she rolled down the window.
“Jack, IsaidI want you to come with me.”
“And it’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all evening.”
“But—”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 15
“Marian, to tell the truth, you’re just too much woman for me.” I backed away
and walked fast, putting a line of cars and a lot of darkness between us
before vanishing into thin air.
Distant and muffled, I heard her door open as she charged out to chase me
down. She called my name a lot, growing more und more frustrated as the
minutes passed. I simply waited and floated free until she finally gave up. It
took a long time, and even then she didn’t go to her car, but back into the
club. The clack of her heels faded and I returned to solidity again with
relief,
I was crouched next to a Rolls and a Caddy and straightened with care. No one
was in immediate sight, which was lucky. Pulling my vanishing act in a public
place was strictly for emergencies only, but Marian more than qualified. As
far as I was concerned, she was about as welcome as a case of warts—and as
hard to lose.
Belatedly, I remembered that I was supposed to be looking for Stan McAlister.
Maybe he was somewhere in the club and Marian had been putting up her best
smoke screen to distract me. It would mean that she was in on the bracelet
business, but nothing much would surprise me about that girl.
I’d been distracted, all right, but if McAlister was here, I’d find him. I
started to go around to slip in by the stage entrance and had to stop cold.
Harry Summers was coming across the parking lot straight for me, looking like
a bulldozer on legs.
Chapter Two
HE STOPPED ABOUT five feet short of me and glared, breathing hard. With wavy
black hair and a strong, square jaw, he was matinee-idol handsome, but his
hands were big and he looked as though he wanted to fasten them around my
neck.
I was tired of him and he’d already put scuff marks on my suit. My conscience
didn’t chafe too much when we locked eyes and I told him to calm down. He was
plenty upset, but soon stopped puffing so much, and the red mottling finally
drained out of his face. He was unaware of what had happened; one minute he
was ready to tear into me, and the next we were walking up and down the
parking lot having a smoke like old friends.
“What was the donnybrook about, Summers?” I asked in a reasonable tone. “You
must know I’m not interested in Marian.”
Summers rumbled a curse and wearily leaned against a car, shaking his head.
“I dunno. Something just comes over me when I see her look at another guy.
She’s crazy and she only makes me crazy. I wish I’d never met her.”
I could sympathize. “You can’t pick fights every time she looks.”
His face was sour. “She was doing more than that with you. I saw it. Christ,
the whole room saw it.”
“Her idea, not mine.”
“Then what were you with her for?”
“She didn’t give me much of a choice. I’ll level with you, Harry, I’m doing a
job for her father and she only came on like gangbusters hoping I’d tell her
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 16
about it.”
“What’s the job?”
“I can’t say.”
Like a lot of people, he ignored that fine point and pressed on. “Does it
have to do with Marian?”
“Not really. What’s she want to hide from her old man?”
He shrugged. “Me, probably.”
“Something the matter with you? Pierce seems to think you’re okay.”
“Only because Marian doesn’t let him look too close.”
“Got a past, huh?”
Summers nodded. “Cops had me on a couple of assault charges.”
What a surprise. “Like what you pulled on me tonight?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Nothing much came of it. I did some time and got out, but the
records are there for anyone to find. Pierce won’t think that that’s okay.”
“Tell him about it and see.”
“I don’t think it’s worth it. Marian’s flighty, she’ll probably drop me for
someone else after this. She doesn’t forgive much of anything when she’s
crossed.”
“She’ll have to learn sometime or lose a lot of friends.” “With her dough,
she can always buy more,” he said bitterly.
I didn’t gainsay him or offer advice or anything stupid like that. If he
wanted to feel sorry for himself that was his business, doubly so if it had to
do with Marian.
He tossed away his cigarette. It was only half-smoked and continued to
smolder long after it bounced off the sidewalk. “I know I’m out of my class
with her. She’s as much as said she goes with me because I did time. I’m not
the tough she thinks I am, all I got is a bad temper. But it makes her feel
like she’s breaking the rules herself. You know how that makesmefeel?”
He didn’t really want an answer, so I kept my mouth shut.
“She’s got everything now and will have more of that when her dad goes. Maybe
I’d have a chance if she didn’t have so much.”
“You don’t want a rich wife?”
“The money doesn’t matter to me, it’s hers. I’d be working my own way no
matter what. What it is… I dunno. it just gets between us somehow. Like with
this.” He gestured at the lavish front of the club. ”I wouldn’t come to a
place like this in a million years, but she’s here and she expects me to be
here, so I come.“
“No taste for the high life?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 17
“Too much of a good thing. I love strawberry ice cream, but I don’t eat it
till I’m sick. Marian would, and she’d insist that everyone else do the same.”
The more I learned about Marian, the happier I was at ditching her, but
Summers was genuinely miserable. He saw her faults and still wanted her, which
could add up to a bleak future. We can’t always choose whom we’re going to
fall for, and I felt sorry for the guy.
“Guess I’ll be running,” I said.
“Wait…”
“Yeah?”
“If you see her, tell her I said I was sorry.”
I looked up at the brightly lit entry doors to the club. Marian was just
starting to come through them. Her step was brisk and she wore a determined
look on her delicate face. “Right, but maybe you should tell her yourself. See
you around.”
I ducked down among the cars before he could stop me again. In the general
darkness, she might not have been able to spot me from the club. A second
later, nobody could see me at all, and I floated off with the wind. When
enough distance and time passed, I went solid and kept walking until I reached
the rear of the building. At the top of some wooden steps was a metal fire
door that could only be opened from the inside. I had to sieve in around the
door, using the extremely thin space between its dense metal and the jamb.
No one seemed to be around. I materialized under a dim red exit light and
ditched my nearly forgotten cigarette in a bucket of sand hanging on the wall.
I rarely smoked the things anymore; my lungs didn’t like them, but they made
useful social props.
The band blared away in front of me, masked off from the backstage area by a
silver curtain. It was flimsy enough to see through when the lights were up on
the other side. A dozen girls wearing strategic bits of tinsel and tap shoes
were trying to beat holes in the dance floor, an encouraging sight, because it
meant Bobbi would be in her dressing room. I didn’t waste any more time.
She said “Come in” to my knock. This time I turned the knob and walked
through like a normal person. Bobbi was at the dressing table checking her
makeup, a glowing oasis of platinum blond sanity in an otherwise screwy
evening.
In the light-lined mirror she saw the door open and shut all by itself. Her
wide hazel eyes blinked once in puzzlement, and then she broke into a smile.
“Jack!” She turned around so she could see me and opened her arms. I did what
I could to fill them, half lifting her from the padded satin chair she’d been
perched on. We were pretty incoherent for the next few minutes until she
insisted on coming up for air.
“How’s the show going?” I asked.
“Pretty good for a slow night. What are you doing up here so early?”
“On a job for Charles. If you have time, I’ll tell you.”
She glanced at a clock on the dresser. “I got five minutes.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 18
“Okay.” I gave her a very quick rundown on things, including Marian’s attack
on my lips, and the follow-up with Summers. Bobbi looked my face over and
pursed her own lips critically.
“You run in rough company, buster. I didn’t notice before, but that is
definitely not my shade.” She grabbed a cloth and briskly wiped my mouth. “The
little tramp,” she muttered. “Good thing you confessed or I might have
clobbered you myself.”
“What’s to confess? I was just an innocent bystander. She was the one who got
all the ideas, and then her boyfriend added a few of his own. He could have
busted my eardrum.”
Bobbi tossed the cloth on the table and swung around to sit in my lap. “Which
ear?”
I pointed. She kissed it and tugged at the lobe a little with her teeth.
“Does that hurt?”
“Keep doing that and you won’t make it out of here in time for your cue.”
“Ah, nuts,” she complained, and stood up to smooth her dress. She was wearing
some kind of sparkly black thing tonight. Everything important was covered,
but it looked as though it had been painted on. “I get a thirty-minute break
after this set. Will you still be here?”
“Sure. If I watch out for your boss, you think I can see the show?”
“If you’re careful and stick backstage. The girls won’t say anything to him,
but tell them to keep their mitts off you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I followed her out and hung close as she wound her way to the stage. A dozen
breathless leggy girls in rustling tinsel clattered past us. One of them gave
out with a wolf whistle and the others laughed. Bobbi looked at me with mock
jealousy.
“They must have noticed the tie,” I whispered. “Real silk.” I waved the end
at her like Oliver Hardy and she playfully swatted it down.
The band started another fanfare. She pecked my cheek and made a smooth
entrance to welcoming applause. The lights went out except for a single spot
centered on her. It sparked off her gown and turned her hair into a molten
blond jewel. My heart ached, she was so beautiful. I forgot about looking for
McAlister, hiding from the management, and any other complications the world
had to offer. Bobbi was singing and that was all the world I needed or wanted.
After the show, behind the locked door of her dressing room, Bobbi peeled out
of the clingy gown. “I love having a live audience, but it’s so hot under that
light. Radio work is much more comfortable.”
I reclined on an old chaise lounge that was jammed up against the wall,
admiring the view. Bobbi rarely used underwear with her working wardrobe,
maintaining that it spoiled the lines. All she had on now were her stockings,
knee garters, and heels. All I could think was,Wow.
She hung up the gown, turned on a little fan, and stood in front of it with
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 19
her arms raised, which did interesting things to her breasts.
“Maybe I should go outdoors for a minute, that would cool me off,” she mused.
“Or heat up half the city.”
“Is it warm in here to you?”
“Yeah, you could say that I’m feeling a little hot and bothered.”
“I can open the door to create a draft…”
“Don’t you dare.”
She dropped her arms and sauntered over to sit next to me on the lounge.
“It’s not fair, I’ve got my clothes off and you—”
“My hat’s on the rack,” I defended. “The way I’m set up now, I don’t have to
take ‘em off.”
“But what if I want to touch your skin, too?” One of her hands wormed under
my coat and started plucking at my shirt-tail.
“Uh…” Now I really was too distracted to answer. She got under the shirt and
ran her nails up my back, which made me squirm. I caught her arm and did a
thing or two to return the favor. We had to keep the laughter down; the walls
weren’t that thick. Her other hand successfully unbuttoned my coat as she
began crawling all over me.
It was absolutely wonderful.
Bobbi craned her neck in the mirror to get a look at her throat. “Good thing
I’m wearing a high collar tonight,” she said, her linger lightly touching the
small red marks there.
“Is it bad?”
“It’s never bad with you.”
“I mean, are you hurt?” Since our method of reaching a climax required my
breaking her skin in a very vulnerable area, her comfort was of serious
concern to me.
“What we do never hurts, you know that. I was talking about the hickey around
it. It’ll fade in an hour or so, but not before the next show starts.”
“Next time I’ll show a little more restraint.”
“Uh-uh. I like things just as they are. Besides, it gives me an excuse to buy
more stuff like this.” She shook out a red satin gown and let it slither down
over her body. Watching Bobbi get dressed was as absorbing an activity as
watching her strip. There aren’t many girls around with that kind of talent.
Someone knocked at the door. “One minute, Bobbi.”
“Gonna stick around for the rest of the evening?” she asked, touching up the
powder on her nose.
“I’msupposedto be here to look for McAlister. Maybe I can slip out front, do
a quick gander, and come back.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 20
“What if you find him?”
“The one weak point in all my plans,” I confessed with mock drama.
“That and getting spotted by my boss. He’ll know all about the lounge ruckus
and be in a wonderful mood. You stay back here and I’ll ask around for you.
Someone’s bound to know this fella. Clubs like this thrive on booze and
gossip.”
“Well, I…”
But she only smiled and winked and flashed out the door, locking it behind
her. She wasn’t trying to keep me prisoner, only make sure no one else got in.
That mirror over her table reflected nearly the whole room, and neither of us
wanted to borrow trouble.
The band already had the next fanfare going and Bobbi made her cue just in
time. I relaxed back on the lounge and listened to her distant voice through
the intervening walls. Throughout her set, I pleasantly speculated over how
many other couples had used the same lounge for their own romantic interludes.
I had plenty of time to think about it, but when Bobbi finally came back she
had news.
“I talked with Gloria—”
“The hat-check girl?”
“I was hoping you hadn’t noticed her.”
“What’d she say?”
“McAlister was here for a while and then left.”
“What time?”
“I’m getting to that. He was here when you arrived and didn’t leave until
after the ruckus. Looks like little Marian was trying to keep you two apart.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Marian came back after you lost her in the parking lot and made a beeline to
McAlister’s table off the dance floor. Tina was running the drinks in that
section, but neither of them wanted anything. They had their heads together
for a bit, and the next time she looked he was gone. Gloria said he got his
coat, stiffed her on the tip, and took off. She saw Marian walk past a minute
or so later.”
“Charles ought to have you as a partner instead of me. McAlister’s probably
halfway toChina by now.”
“Maybe, but chances are, he’ll stop to pack first. Where does he live?”
“He’s got a flop in a hotel…” I fumbled out my notebook, where I’d scribbled
the address. It wasn’t far; if I hurried I might get there in time to watch
his dust settle. “Gotta go, sweetheart. If I’m not back by closing, get a ride
with one of the girls.”
She laughed when I kissed her and wished me luck.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 21
***
The Boswell House was a cheap residence hotel in a tough neighborhood that
hadn’t quite made it to being a full-fledged slum, but was trying all the
same. No clerk at the desk challenged me when I walked into the dusty lobby
and looked around. The stairs were on the right; ancient wooden things full of
more creaks and pops than an old man’s joints. I double-checked the lobby to
be safe, then went semitransparent and floated up over them, guiding myself
along with a ghostly hand on the banister. In this form I could see and hear
what was going on. but it could scare the willies out of anyone spotting me.
Either the timing was good or for once my luck was holding. I went solid just
as a leggy gal in a bright kimono emerged from the room next door to
McAlister’s. She had carroty hair and hard eyes and looked at me looking at
her for exactly two seconds before spinning on her bare heel to go back into
her lair. I must not have been the man of her dreams, after all.
A moment of listening at McAlister’s door confirmed that he wasn’t at home.
The door was locked, but no problem.
The small room beyond wasn’t much: cheap, battered furniture at the edges,
and a Murphy bed taking up most of the space in the middle. It hadn’t been
made in a couple of weeks; that, or he was an incredibly restless sleeper. I
figured he slept alone, since I couldn’t think of a woman born who would
voluntarily lie down in those stale sheets. I lifted the end of the bed and
closed it up into the wall to give myself a little working space.
Escott had taught me how to poke and pry without leaving signs, so I went
through everything, taking my time. Chances were, he’d be back before I was
finished, and then I could tackle him about the bracelet.
His clothes were still in the wardrobe and bureau, which was good news. A
dented metal suitcase was tucked under the spindly legs of a washstand. Unless
he had plans to buy clothes along the way, he hadn’t skipped town yet.
I’d just lowered the bed again to check under the mattress when the stairs
outside warned me that someone was coming up; a man, by the sound of his
shoes. He was going slow, but the old wood announced his progress like a brass
band. I eased the bed down the rest of the way and vanished.
He took his time at the door and then opened it slowly, as though he expected
a problem was waiting for him inside. He clicked on the light, waited another
moment, then closed the door up again. He made a quick circuit of the room,
brushing right past me. He stopped in his tracks.
“Jack? Are you here?”
A clipped English accent. Escott.
I materialized with some relief and squinted. After working in the dark for
so long, the room lights seemed painfully bright to my sensitive eyes. “Yeah,
I’m here. How’d you know?”
He looked relieved as well. “I felt a sudden cold spot cut right through my
coat. When that happens I am inclined to think you must be lurking nearby.
Have you been here long?” He pocketed a worn leather kit that held a number of
lock picks and skeleton keys. It explained the excessive time he’d spent at
the door.
“Long enough for a search.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 22
“Is it clean?” A fastidious man himself, he couldn’t help wrinkling his nose
at the place.
“Figuratively speaking, yes, but we may have a problem…” I told him about my
little square dance at the Top Hat with Marian and Summers and Bobbi’s news on
McAlister.
“Dear me, but Miss Pierce has thrown a spanner into the works by her
misinterpretation of her father’s actions. If McAlister is the guilty party
with the bracelet, he’ll have the wind up by now.”
“Which is why I got over here. Bobbi figured he’d stop long enough for his
clothes.”
“I may put Miss Smythe on a retainer,” he murmured. “I’ve just come from a
betting parlor McAlister frequents. It seems we’re not the only party looking
for him.”
“He lose big?”
“Almost two thousand dollars—”
“Ouch.”
“—to a bookie anxious to take it from McAlister’s hide if the money is not
immediately forthcoming.”
“Let’s hope he stops here first.”
“Indeed. If he’s carrying the bracelet with him it could be lost to our
competition to cover his debt.”
“Want to wait here for him?”
“It’s much warmer than the street below, though we should shut off the
light.” He relocked the door.
When he was settled in a wobbling chair, I hit the switch. The darkness
washed comfortably over my eyes and they adjusted easily. The dim gray
illumination coming from the room’s only window bounced off the mirror hanging
over the bureau and caught the edge of Escott’s face.
“Can you see all right?” he asked.
“Just fine.”
“Then perhaps you might answer a question for me.”
“What?”
“Why do you need a light in your workroom if you can see so well in the
dark?”
I’d wondered about that myself. “I think it’s because the place is so totally
sealed up.”
“The darkness is absolute then?”
“Like a… cave.” I nearly said “tomb” and changed it at the last second. “In
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 23
most places there’s always some kind of light available, like what’s here now.
It’s more than enough for me to work with, but that room is the exception.”
“What about your hearing?” “You talking about the car that just pulled up out
front?”
He nodded. We waited and listened. I heard a lot more besides the slam of the
car door outside. Some guy was snoring two rooms down, and above us a happy
couple were having an athletic engagement. The showgirl in the kimono must
have been reading. I concentrated on the lobby below and picked out the clack
of a woman’s high heels quickly coming up the stairs. She paused at the
landing and again just outside, then a key slipped into the lock and turned.
Escott hastily vacated the chair and was crowded next to me behind the door.
It opened slowly and she fumbled for the light. She surveyed the room only a
moment, killed the light, and left. When the door was closed, I quietly told
Escott I was going after her, and vanished. I swept past her down the stairs
and out the building, then materialized. She was just coming out as I came in,
and I made sure we bumped into each other.
She was tiny, not much over five feet even in her heels, and despite the
bulky lines of her coat I could tell the rest of her was built along the same
scale. She automatically looked up when we collided, and I had a pleasant view
of big blue eyes limned with golden lashes and a fringe of golden hair
escaping the edges of her hat. Sebastian Pierce had said she was a little doll
and he’d been perfectly right.
I stopped her as she started past. “ ‘Scuse me, but aren’t you Stan
McAlister’s girl?”
“What?” She blinked at me, properly confused.
“Kitty Donovan?”
“Yes, what do you want?” She must have been concentrating heavily on
something else. Her mind had to visibly shift gears to this new distraction.
“My name’s Jack, I know your boyfriend.” It was an exaggeration, not an
outright lie, so I was able to get away with it.
“Oh… well… how nice,” she said, a little blankly. I could have told her I was
Teddy Roosevelt and gotten the same response.
“Are you looking for him, too?”
At this, her big eyes went very round and she broke into a kind of frozen
smile. “Looking for him? Why, yes, but he’s not here tonight.”
“He’s not? That’s too bad… I really needed to talk to him. Do you know where
else he might be?”
She shook her head. “No, I just thought I’d drop in and see, but no one’s
home.”
“Isn’t this kind of a rough place for a nice girl like you to—”
“I don’t think it’s really any of your business,” she told me brusquely. She
started to duck past. I caught her arm. “Lemme go or I’ll scream my head off.”
“No, you won’t. You need to know why I’m looking for him.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 24
She was ready to question that, but let me lead her back into the lobby. I
kept a loose hold on her arm, as though to steady her. She unsuccessfully
tried to shake my grip.
“You lug,” she grumbled. I didn’t argue with her.
Escott was just coming down the stairs. I nodded at him and he joined us,
politely removing his hat when I introduced Kitty Donovan to him.
“A pleasure,” he said, bowing a little. She didn’t expect his accent or such
a high polish on his manners; neither of them went with the neighborhood.
“What’s this about?” she asked.
“We’re friends of Stan and we’re looking for him,” I said.
Her lips curled in cynical disbelief. “I’ll just bet you are.”
Escott stepped in. “He was at the Top Hat Club earlier tonight, do you know
where he might be now?”
Eyes guarded, she shook her head. I was pretty sure she was telling the
truth, but Escott wasn’t satisfied. He cocked an eyebrow, indicating a lounge
area off the lobby. It was just slightly more private and out of immediate
line of sight from the door. We walked her in. I sat next to her on a couch
and Escott took a chair in front of us.
She was scared now and trying not to show it. “Listen, if you are Stan’s
friends, he won’t like what you’re doing.”
“We’re doing nothing, Miss Donovan, only waiting until such time as Mr.
McAlister returns.”
“He’s not here. I was just up in his room, see?”
“Perhaps I do. I think you have us mixed up with two other fellows. My word
of honor, we are not working for Leadfoot Sam.”
“Leadfoot Sam?” I echoed.
“Mr. McAlister’s annoyed bookie. I believe he earned his colorful appellation
due to his driving style during Prohibition.”
Kitty was all anxious attention. “What about Leadfoot?”
Escott tried a reassuring smile that she wasn’t interested in. “Nothing about
him—at least as far as I’m concerned. We are not his agents.”
“Then who are you working for?”
He pulled out his investigator’s license and she studied it for a longtime.
“We’re on an errand unconnected to Stan McAlister’s debts and only wish to
obtain some information from him.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you, and I really have to go now.” She started
to stand, but I gently pulled her back.
“We require but a few minutes of your time,” he continued.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 25
“But I don’t want to be here. Now, let me go or I’ll scream the house down.”
“Kitty…” First I got her full attention, then stepped up the pressure. Her
eyes seemed to get bigger and bluer as I held them with my own. She was on her
way to slipping under when the entry door opened and a dapper-looking guy with
straw blond hair walked in. He distracted me and, worst of all, he distracted
Kitty. Her eyes shifted over and she gave out with a little gasp, then drew
breath for a full shout.
“Run, Stan! They’re after you!”
He whirled in a flash and was out the door before she finished. Escott
charged after him and I started to move, but Kitty made a tackling dive for my
legs. She was tiny, but more than enough to trip me. I crashed backward into a
chair and flipped up and over, feet flying in a clumsy somersault. The floor
was wood and awfully damned hard to land on.
When the room stopped spinning, I slowly crawled upright. Kitty had recovered
and stood facing me. She dug into her purse and brought out a gun, slipped off
the safety, and leveled it on my heart.
“Aw, now, kid, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Her hand was shaking, but there was a grim set to her mouth. “Back. You stand
right back.”
I raised my hands to show cooperation. She carried some kind of .22 automatic
and knew how to use it or she might have forgotten about the safety. The five
bullets it probably carried wouldn’t kill me, but getting shot hurt like hell,
and my suit had been through enough rough stuff for one evening. There were
other ways to take care of her.
“Kitty, we don’t want to hurt Stan. We just want to ask him a few questions.”
She shook her head and told me to move back. I could try hypnotizing her
again, but she looked too nerved up to easily respond. It would also be
necessary to get closer and she’d already made a firm decision to keep me at a
distance.
“Gonna keep me here all night?” I asked. “What will the management think?”
“Wha’d‘ya think I’ll think?” A middle-aged man who looked as tough as the
rest of the place came around the check-in desk. His hair was sticking up in
different directions and he wore a drab bathrobe over his shorts and
undershirt. He carried a massive shotgun that made Kitty’s .22 look like a
water pistol.
Before I could answer, Kitty cut in. “I’m Stan McAlister’s girl. This guy and
his friend outside were trying to kidnap me.”
“Is that what all the noise is about?” His unfriendly eye caught sight of the
overturned chair. From his expression, you’d have thought it was his grandma’s
priceless antique.
“This is a misunderstanding,” I said. “My partner and I are—”
“Trying to kill Stan,” she blurted. “Please, mister, could you hold him here
while I get away?” There were tears and a crack of fear in her voice. Whether
they were real or not was anyone’s guess, but the man was willing to buy it.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 26
“Sure, little girl. You take off. He won’t get out of here for a while.” He
hefted both barrels in my direction and looked confident.
She whispered out her thanks and was gone.
“Look, mister, my partner and I are detectives.”
“Uh-huh. Got any proof?”
I hesitated. Technically I was just along for the ride; Escott was the only
one with a valid license. The hesitation was enough to bolster any doubts and
the man took a firmer grip on the stock. Outside I heard an engine gun and the
whine of wheels us Kitty’s car tore down the street. I wondered what had
happened to Escott.
“What I said was on the level.” I lowered my arms as though they were tired.
It didn’t seem to bother him.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“She just got a little nervous, is all.”
He shook his head in patronizing disbelief.
“Now, I don’t happen to have my license with me…” I started to reach inside
my coat.
He dropped the disbelief for a scowl, renewing his grip on the gun.
“But I do have my wallet… so maybe we can make a deal?” I opened one side of
my coat so he could see where I was reaching.
He licked his lips. “Okay. Double sawbuck.”
“Single.”
“Double or nothing, buddy.”
“Okay, okay.” I pulled out the wallet and fumbled around with it, walking
toward him. The change in my posture and attitude worked. His hold on the
shotgun went slack as he came forward. His attention was on the money, but at
one point he looked up at me.
His mistake.
A few minutes later he was peacefully snoring back in his office and I was
outside looking for Escott and McAlister. Kitty was long gone, of course, and
there was no sign of her fleet-footed boyfriend. The street was empty and
black and the infrequent glare of tall lamps only deepened the shadows they
were meant to relieve. It looked cold and was beginning to feel cold, even to
me.
A distinct gasp and cough caught my attention and drew me to the alley
running between the hotel and a closed coffee shop. The bundle of clothes
lying in the middle of it was Escott, curled on his side, trying to remember
how to breathe.
He stifled a groan as I helped him sit up. The only visible damage was a cut
above one eye.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 27
“I almost had him,” he complained.
“What stopped you?”
“His blackjack.”
It seemed like a good excuse to me.
“He thumped me and broke for his car.”
“Round one to Stan, then.” I got him out of the alley and folded into my
Buick. He groaned again at this, since Stan had also booted him in the stomach
for good measure.
“If this keeps up, I shall certainly consider raising my basic retainer,” he
said, hugging the damaged area.
“You go right ahead. Kitty got away, too. She had a gun and the manager’s
sympathy.”
He didn’t seem too upset. “Straight on, then. There’s still a chance we can
salvage things.”
“How so?”
“I’m speculating she will head directly for her own home.”
“Yeah? You got a crystal ball?”
“Hardly, but seeking a place of safety after receiving a bad fright is a very
strong instinct. If she should follow that pattern, then we’ll have the
opportunity to question her without interruptions.”
Escott gave me the address from Pierce’s notes. I got the car in gear and we
took off.
Kitty’s home was in a nice block of modern apartments in a nice part of town.
We parked on the curb out front next to a has-been of a car. I’d hardly
stopped when Escott was out and pulling off one of his gloves. He put one hand
on the old car’s hood to see if it had been running recently, and his lips
thinned with satisfaction.
“Stan’s?” I asked.
He opened the door and checked the registration, then nodded. While I
nervously watched the street for beat cops, he did something under the hood to
make sure it wouldn’t start.
The apartment entrance required either a key or that visitors buzz. I saved
us some trouble and slipped through to open the door for Escott. Kitty lived
on the second floor at the end of a carpeted hallway. After trying her door
and finding it locked, I did the same thing again, but slowly. Still
invisible, I checked the room beyond to ascertain that no one was there. It
was very small, probably no more than an entry with a coat closet. I reformed
and spent a moment listening, but picked up nothing. I clicked the lock back
as softly as possible and let Escott inside.
He already knew to be quiet and his manner was calm enough, but I could hear
his heart thumping like a drum. He enjoyed this sort of work.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 28
The living room was new looking, the furniture comfortably plump, but not
fussy. A low table displayed drawing pencils, a battered sketch pad, and a
stack of fashion magazines. Escott flipped a few pages of the sketchbook. It
was full of stylized drawings of heads, all tilted to show off the crazy hats
they wore.
The first bedroom was a work area. A couple of card tables in the middle were
covered with a colorful scatter of ribbons, feathers, netting, lace, velvet,
and similar junk. In the corner stood a small black sewing machine, and
stacked next to it were different kinds of hat blocks. A wall full of shelves
held samples of the finished product. Most of them looked awfully strange to
me, but were probably just the thing for Bobbi to go crazy over.
Escott went down the short hall to the other bedroom and I followed. It was
done up in pale blues with an eye for comfort, especially the central
furnishing.
“That’s a pretty big bed for such a small lady,” I said. It looked nearly
double the regular size, filling most of the room. I’d seen something like it
once in a movie and had thought things like that only existed inHollywood .
“Agreed.” He went over to one of the nightstands and opened the top drawer,
immediately pulling out several packets of prophylactics. “Well, well.”
I shifted uncomfortably. The girl was entitled to some privacy and I didn’t
feel right about invading it on such an intimate level. Escott dropped them
back and shut the drawer with hardly a raised eyebrow. To him it was simply
information. He collected it in the same absent way other people collect
string. He checked the closet and bath and came back right away, shaking his
head to indicate they were empty. That left only the kitchen at the other end
of the flat.
The dining room was clean and uninteresting. The door from it to the kitchen
was shut. I listened and this time heard the faint sound of someone breathing
within. Just as I touched the doorknob I jerked my hand back as though from an
electric shock.
“What is it?” asked Escott.
It was unmistakable, but I drew another cautious breath just to be sure.
“Jack?”
I swallowed with difficulty, because my mouth and throat had gone bone dry.
“Bloodsmell,” I whispered.
He started to say something but caught the look on my face. He nodded,
understanding, and slipped his glove back on to open the door.
A lot of different images crowded my eyes: gray-speckled linoleum, shining
steel cabinets, white curtains with red trim. The trim almost seemed to accent
the red pool at our feet.
Kitty Donovan had pressed herself into a corner formed by the steel cabinets.
Her hands gripped their edges on either side with white fingers. Her mouth
hung slack and her eyes were too big to be real, as though they’d been painted
on her face. She was staring at Stan McAlister, who was sprawled on the floor
in front of her.
He was on his back. His coat and shirt had been unbuttoned, their pockets
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 29
turned out, and the contents scattered. There was a nasty bruise on his
temple; bad enough, but whoever had hit him had wanted to be sure of things.
The blood had oozed from at least a dozen wounds in his chest and one in the
neck, where the carving knife was still embedded.
Kitty looked up at us, shivering violently from head to toe. Her lips moved,
but only a soft hiccupping came out of them. Her eyes fastened once more onto
McAlister’s body, then abruptly rolled up in their sockets. With an audible
sigh, she dropped gracelessly forward in a faint.
Chapter Three
I MOVED TOWARD her but Escott stopped me. His face was drawn and his lips had
thinned to the point of disappearance.
“Mind where you step,” he said in a low, carefully level voice.
He wasn’t trying to be funny; he looked as sick as I felt. I nodded and took
my time getting to Kitty. She’d just missed hitting the mess from McAlister’s
throat. I scooped her up and Escott followed as I took her out and put her on
the oversized bed in the back.
“Still wearing her coat,” he murmured. “She must have walked straight in and
found him.”
“I’m glad you don’t think she did it.”
“Of course, she could have knocked him out first and then killed him as he
lay helpless. The physical evidence is against that theory, though. Except for
this”—he removed one of her shoes and examined the smear of blood on its
sole—“she is quite clean. The killer would most certainly have at least a spot
or two on his hands.”
He sounded pretty clinical until I realized that the cold detachment was his
way of being able to handle the whole horrible business. He was still pasty
white and his fingers twitched with more than his usual nervous energy.
“I have to make some phone calls. If she comes round, keep her back here and
don’t touch anything that will hold a print.” He carefully placed the shoe on
the nightstand. Almost as an afterthought, he swiped his gloved fingers over
the drawer handle, and left.
Her skin was clammy and blue at the edges. I pulled the bedspread up and
tucked it around her slight body. There seemed no point in reviving her; she’d
be awake all too soon and have lots of talking to do for the cops. She was
still out when Escott returned a few minutes later.
“Our employer is not at home and no one knows where he is. I should have
liked to have given him some warning about this, but it can’t be helped now,
the police are on their way. I rousted the manager of this place. She’s
downstairs waiting to let them in.”
“You call Lieutenant Blair?”
“Yes. He’ll be thorough, which means you might not wish to be here. If this
ends up in court…”
“I’ll stick around. Tell him that I was waiting out in the car while you
followed the girl inside. They won’t call me into court if I wasn’t here to
see anything.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 30
“And your presence now?”
“I got tired of waiting and followed you in—after you found the body. The
only problem is Kitty, she saw us both.”
He hardly glanced at her. “I doubt that she will be in a condition to
remember, but if so, then it is something you can remedy easily enough. Now,
before Blair shows up I want to check things again.”
McAlister’s looks hadn’t improved while we were gone. Escott picked his way
around the kitchen as though the pool of blood were pan of a mine field. He’d
once mentioned that he suffered from squeamishness; apparently it was under
control tonight. I couldn’t bring myself to go in, and hung back in the dining
room, out of the way.
“Seepage rather than splashing,” he said to himself in a voice that sounded
borrowed. “He must have already been dead for this one.” He indicated the
blade in McAlister’s throat.
“What about his stuff?” My own voice was thin.
He surveyed the scattered debris from the turned-out pockets., “His wallet—if
he carried one—is missing. Perhaps we are meant to think the motive was
robbery.”
“Maybe it was, but for the bracelet.”
“Which is not here, unless it’s under him, and I’ve no wish to move him and
see. Only we and Mr. Pierce know of it as being a possible motive for this
terrible thing, yet these multiple wounds indicate…” He squatted on his heels,
staring hard at them.
“What?”
He shook his head. He would talk when he was ready. He stood, casting around
for something else to study, fastening his eye on the stove and a heavy iron
frying pan there. Instead of sitting square on a burner, it was tilted half-on
and -off. Escott peered at it closely, keeping his hands well clear. “Is that
what smashed his head?” I asked.
“I believe so. It more than qualifies as a blunt instrument and is the only
likely object in the room.” “What about his blackjack?”
“Yes, there’s that, but I really don’t see him as cheerfully handing it over
for his killer to use. Also this was done very quickly. We weren’t more than
ten minutes behind Miss Donovan, and McAlister was less than five minutes
ahead of her.”
“So the killer must have been waiting here for him.”
“Unless Miss Donovan is the killer.”
“But you said—”
“I know. It is most unlikely, given her actions to aid him at the Boswell
House, but it is just possible.” “You don’t really think…” He shrugged. “All
permutations must be equally considered, especially the unsavory ones. Perhaps
you can settle things one way or another when she comes round.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 31
“You can make book on it.” “Yes, that’s another factor to consider,” he
mused. “What?”
“Leadfoot Sam, the bookie.”
He quit the kitchen and I led the way back to her bedroom. The bed was empty,
its spread tossed aside. The shoe on the nightstand was gone. A corner window
with access to the fire escape was wide open and the thin curtains over it
seemed to shiver from the icy air drifting inside. We both darted over, but
she was nowhere in sight.
Escott allowed himself a brief and entirely American-sounding obscenity.
“She’ll make for her car.”
“I’ll go find out.”
He didn’t argue. To save time, I vanished on the spot and hurled out the
window, using the uncompromising metal grid-work of the stairs as a guide to
the ground. Re-forming, I heard a motor kick over and rushed around the
building in time to see her taillights flare and dim as she took a sharp
corner out of the apartment parking lot.
My car was on the other side of the place, of course. I was halfway there
when the first of the cops rolled up and stopped. I waved at him in a
friendly, hurried way, but he wasn’t buying any. He’d been called to the scene
of a homicide and spotted a man running away; it was more than enough to
inspire his hunter’s instinct. He was out and shouting for me to stop.
I didn’t know if he had his gun in hand or not and had no inclination to find
out. Quickly swerving under the deep shadow of a couple of trees, I vanished
again, and kept going. He was still beating the bush when I bumped against my
car and slipped inside. I was feeling pretty smug as I started up the engine.
The feeling lasted until a prowl car roared in from nowhere and screeched to a
halt right in my path. The first cop ran up, half crouching so he could see
inside the driver’s window. He did indeed have his gun in hand and it was
pointed right at my chest. I decided not to move.
He bellowed at me to get out and I obliged. While he and his friends went
through the farce of slapping me down and putting on the cuffs, Kitty Donovan
speeded merrily away into the night. I might have eventually been able to
hypnotize my way out of it, but there were too many strikes against that
gambit. The three of them were distracted and hostile, it was too dark for
them to see me very well, but most of all I was just too dust-spitting mad to
talk coherently.
A couple of unmarked cars rolled up and a medium-tall man in a belted leather
overcoat emerged from one of them. We hadn’t seen each other in several
months, but I knew him right away. A young forty and dandy handsome,
Lieutenant Blair was one of the best-dressed cops inChicago , if not the rest
of the state. He walked up slowly, studying things, and especially me. A broad
smile of recognition appeared under his carefully groomed mustache.
“What have you got here?” he asked, addressing the cop who had a proprietary
hand on my shoulder.
“Caught him running away, Lieutenant.” The cop briefly described my capture.
“Uh-huh. Why were you running away, Mr. Fleming?”
“I was chasing someone.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 32
“And who were you chasing?”
I didn’t know how far Escott wanted to go in protecting his client’s privacy.
“Better ask Charles about that, I only came along for the ride.”
Last fall, in order to avert a problem, I’d hypnotized Blair, planting the
idea in his mind that we were friends. It had worked very well, but by now
time and circumstances had eroded my suggestion down to almost nothing. Blair
wasn’t a bit amused with me.
“If you’d like to go for another ride, I’m sure we can arrange it.”
The cop took a firmer grip on me as though to follow through with the threat,
and that’s when Escott made what I can only describe as a timely entrance.
There were some smudges of grime on his clothes, indicating he’d also used the
fire escape to exit the building. He was only slightly breathless, enough to
give the impression that he was in a hurry.
“Lieutenant Blair, thank you for coming so quickly.” He shook hands with
Blair and at the same time got him walking back toward the apartments. He
immediately launched into a succinct outline of his version of the evening,
keeping me safely in the background until the last. Somehow he managed to
avoid mentioning Pierce’s name or how we broke into Kitty’s flat.
“… when we saw that she’d escaped out the window. Jack naturally went after
her,” he concluded.
“Naturally,” he agreed, his tone bordering on sarcasm. “And just why did the
young lady go out the window?”
“She was probably frightened out of her wits.”
“Where would she go?”
Escott shrugged minimally, using one hand and an eyebrow.
As our parade reached the entry doors and the lights on either side of them,
Blair noticed the souvenir Escott sported from McAlister’s blackjack. “You
been in a war or something?”
“Only a small skirmish, hardly worth the resulting headache.”
Escott’s offhand and deprecatory manner amused Blair long enough for him to
have the cop release me. He had more important things to do than to push
around the hired help. By the time we turned to go into the building his mood
had gone sour again. It spread to the rest of the group, with the exception of
the middle-aged woman in a bathrobe who let us in. For her, it was a toss-up
between terror and curiosity. Murder can do that to people.
The next couple of hours were spent sitting on Kitty Donovan’s overstuffed
sofa watching a parade of cops turn the place over. Her neat little life was
twisted inside out as they took photographs, dusted for prints, and collected
anything that could be remotely connected with Stan McAlister’s death.
Things wound their way down and the number of investigators thinned and left.
Without ceremony or stir, McAlister was carried out in a stained and creaking
wicker basket. Escott watched, his face carefully blank. One of his hands
rested on the power switch of a table lamp next to his chair and he idly
flicked it on and off until one of the cops told him to cut it out. He
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 33
stiffened a little, not from the cop’s annoyed order, but from some internal
start. His pale gray eyes fixed on me, but he had no chance to say anything.
Blair came over and started asking questions again, the kind Escott couldn’t
answer. I’d once been on the receiving end of one of Blair’s interrogations
and knew Escott’s reticence would not be welcome.
A description of Kitty Donovan and her vehicle had been issued so the
prowl-car boys could get in on the hunt. Blair hadn’t made it any too clear
whether he wanted her as a witness or a suspect. He’d listened to everything
we could tell him, but had reserved judgment on our conclusions.
With the passage of time and the scarcity of facts, Blair’s patience lessened
in direct proportion to his growing temper. His olive skin got a few shades
paler and his dark eyes were bright from all the internal heat. Push him too
far and he’d explode. Escott didn’t look very worried about it.
Blair abruptly stopped the questions when a muscle in his jaw started working
all on its own. I thought the volcano would go off then and there, but he
still had it well in check. His voice was smooth, almost purring. “Very well,
Charles, I can admire your business ethics, but it’s getting late and I’ve
other work to do. I may need to call you in for more questions at any time,
though, so I want you to hang around the station just in case anything new
occurs to either of us.”
“Are you charging me with anything?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Escott had been carefully neutral since Blair’s arrival and continued to hold
on to it. He nodded, ruefully accepting Blair’s terms, and I wondered what he
was up to since he was fully capable of talking his way out of the situation.
“Would you like to have my assistant accompany us?” he inquired politely.
“No, I would not. Your assistant can just get the hell out of here.”
One corner of Escott’s mouth twitched. Blair missed it or he might have
reconsidered his snap decision. “Very well,” he said, with only a hint of
exasperation. “Jack, I was wondering if you’d look after my car before going
home. I wouldn’t want any pranksters bashing in the lights.” He handed me the
keys.
“Yeah, sure.”
One of the plainclothesmen hustled him out.
“What’s this about his car?” asked Blair.
“Nothing, Lieutenant,” I said. “We had to leave it in a rough neighborhood,
is all.”
“Near the Boswell House, by any chance?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Just stay away from the place. My men are going over it now and you could
get swept up and taken in along with anything else they find over there.”
I shrugged, all innocence. “They won’t even see me… I promise.”
Escott had parked his Nash under the doubtful safety of a street lamp a
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 34
little distance from the hotel. No one had bothered it; the weather might have
been too discouragingly cold for anybody to try. I checked inside and found
his notebook in the glove box, opening it to the last page. The paper with all
the information on McAlister dropped out. Maybe that was what he wanted picked
up, but I wasn’t so sure. I put it in my own notebook and took a look at his
lights, front and back. The whisper of city dust on them was undisturbed, so
he hadn’t left any hidden messages under the glass.
Half a block down were three cars too new for the area. One was a
black-and-white, another unmarked with a tall aerial, and the third a
slick-looking Cadillac. I sat in the Nash and waited until the cops finally
came out, and drove away.
The driver waiting in the Caddy stayed put, but I wasn’t much worried about
him, figuring his employer was busy visiting some girlfriend. The street was
dead quiet when I got out and walked across to the hotel.
The manager was awake again and had thrown on some clothes. He stood at the
front desk narrowly watching a tall woman using his phone. Maybe he thought
she’d walk off with it.
“Ten cents,” he said when she finished.
“A nickel or nothing,” she snapped.
“That’s a business line. While you’re calling for a cab, I could be losing
money.”
“Like hell.” She dug into her handbag and stuck a cigarette in her freshly
painted mouth. I stepped in and lighted it for her. She glanced up and nodded
a brief thanks. The last time I’d seen her she’d slammed a door on me. Her
eyes had lost a lot of their hardness and were puffy and red. She’d tried to
disguise the lines with a layer of powder and almost succeeded. Her carroty
hair was covered by a close-fitting black hat and she’d replaced the kimono
with a dark dress and coat. The stuff looked expensive, but slightly shabby
with age or a lot of wear. At her feet was a large suitcase.
“Moving out?” I asked.
“What’s it to you?”
“Ten cents,” repeated the manager. He concentrated on her, ignoring me
because he didn’t remember our earlier encounter at all. The suggestions I’d
planted earlier were still strong in him. I fished out two nickels and tossed
them on the desk.
“Hey,” said the woman. “Don’t do me any favors.”
“Life’s too short to spend time arguing, besides, I want to talk with you.”
“Hey!” she protested as I took her elbow and steered her away from the desk.
“I don’t want to talk to you. Lemme go or I’ll call a cop.”
“You’re too late, they just left.”
She stopped fighting me, suddenly curious. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“A friend of a friend of Stan McAlister.”
The name meant something to her but she pretended it didn’t. “Who?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 35
“Your next-door neighbor.”
“That lug. Well, he ain’t my neighbor anymore. He ain’t no-body’s neighbor
now. The cops—the cops said—” She broke off with an involuntary shudder.
“Yeah, I heard what happened to him.” “You a cop, too?” she demanded.
“No, I’m here for a friend of a friend. Remember? Why are you in such a hurry
to leave?”
“That’s my business. Why are you so damn nosy?”
“Because Stan got himself and my friend into some deep trouble tonight.”
“I’d have never guessed with all the cops around.”
“Are they why you’re leaving?”
“So what if it is? I don’t like cops, it ain’t a crime. Look it up.”
“I believe you. Look, I’m only trying to dig out some information on Stan.”
Her hard eyes lowered in sulky thought. “What kind of information?”
“What people he saw, how he made his living, that kind.”
She shook her head. “I can’t help you.”
“Not even for some extra cab fare?”
“I don’t know nothing worth that much. A place like this, it don’t pay to get
curious about anything.”
I could believe that. “You ever talk to him in the hall?”
She almost laughed. “He talked to me.”
“What about?”
She looked at me pityingly. “What do you think? Mugs like that are always on
the make, but I wasn’t interested.”
“He have a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, there’s always some noodle-brain around who’ll fall for his kind of
line.”
“So he brought ‘em here?”
She nodded and drew heavily on her cigarette, affecting boredom, but I could
almost smell the fear rolling off her.
“You see any of them?”
“I’m not the housemother here.”
“He have any other kind of visitors?”
Her eyes were less hard now than tired. “I already told all this to one of
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 36
those goddamn cops. I don’t know nothing, which means I can’t say nothing. You
want to know about the guy, ask the management.”
“I will, but you’re better looking.”
She put on a thin, disillusioned smile. “Nice try, kid. Maybe some other
time.”
“Hold on—”
“I can’t, my cab just pulled up.”
“You hear of anyone called Leadfoot Sam?”
A little noise came out of her throat and she shook her head. She was plenty
scared. “Please, I just wanta get out of here.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Her mouth dropped a little, but she was grateful for the release. I carried
her heavy suitcase and put it in the trunk for her.
“Where will you go?” I asked, holding the door as she climbed in behind the
driver.
“Anyplace where I can get an unbroken night’s sleep. Hey, you don’t have to
do that.”
I passed a five to her and shut the door. “Yeah, I know.”
She rolled down her window. “You nuts or something?”
“Probably. Sweet dreams.”
Her mouth worked and her teeth started chattering from more than just the
winter air. She rolled the window up and the cab drove away. I waited till it
made the corner then went back inside.
“What’s her name?” I asked the manager.
“She’s too old for you, sonny,” he leered.
I quickly decided that manners and charm would be a total waste on him. Since
there were no witnesses around now, I opted for my usual shortcut, and had him
talking like a mynah bird in a very few minutes.
The guy said the woman’s name was Doreen Grey and that she called herself an
actress. A lot of girls called themselves actresses. I shrugged and passed it
off. Life was tough all over. I skipped her and asked about McAlister and got
some answers.
He’d moved in about six months ago and paid his rent on time, usually putting
in a little extra on the side. He did the kind of entertaining that the
management was content to ignore as long as the tips were good. He had a lot
of different lady friends; Kitty had been only one in a long parade.
I told him to catch up on his sleep and went to McAlister’s room to see what
the cops had left. It was about the same as before, but with the drawers
pulled open. The bed looked dirty and depressing. I didn’t like to think of
Kitty ever being in it.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 37
Perhaps their assignations took place in her own room. The supplies stored in
her nightstand lent some hopeful credence to that.
Escott’s apparently idle play with the table lamp came to mind. I turned on
the one overhead, once again wincing at the brightness. Two more lamps flanked
the bed. I checked them over but found nothing odd. They were as cheap as the
rest of the furnishings and had no hidden crannies for concealing expensive
bracelets. They even worked. Their combined brightness made the dingy little
room even more depressing. I shut them off and stared at the walls, trying to
figure out what Escott had seen.
Across from the bed was the bureau and its mirror. As I ran an eye from one
wall to the other, I noticed the crummy prints hung up for decoration. They
had been left a little crooked on their wires by the cops; I’d been careful to
leave them straight. They served to remind me that the mirror had been bolted
to the wall. It was about the only thing in the place that might have been
worth stealing. Because mirrors give me the creeps, I’d pretty much ignored it
before, with my eyes purposely not focusing on its reflection of an empty
room. I crossed over for another look. At each corner a bright new screw held
the mirror’s frame fast in place.
I gave one edge a tug and the whole thing snapped free with a sloppy crunch.
The mirror was a fancy one-way job to hide a hole in the wall. The hole went
right through the lath and plaster to Doreen Grey’s room.
And I’d given her cab fare.
After indulging in a quarter-minute of intense self-recrimination, I put the
mirror down and slipped through the wall to look around. Doreen’s room was an
appropriate reverse of McAlister’s, except the bureau had been pushed over a
few feet. There were three faint dents in the bare floor beneath the hole,
probably where she’d set up the tripod. Normal room light wouldn’t have been
sufficient for her photography, but she’d seen to that by giving McAlister
some extra-bright bulbs to leave on during the show. They’d had a nasty little
racket going, either for blackmail or pornography, but I could admire the
planning involved.
None of it was any too good for Kitty. If McAlister had tried putting the
squeeze on her, she’d have plenty of motive for killing him. She was a little
doll, cute and demure looking as you please, but I was beginning to have
serious doubts—the kind that send people to death row.
I shook out of them and finished searching the room.
Doreen hadn’t missed a thing. Her wastebasket held wads of soggy tissues,
indicating she’d suffered a bout of genuine grief for her partner’s demise,
but the rest of the place was clean. I speculated that both she and McAlister
had lived ready to pull stakes and leave on a moment’s notice. With the kind
of business they’d worked, it would have been a necessity.
She could be on her way toTimbuktu by now and only the cops had the resources
to find her—unless I got smart and called the cab company.
I went downstairs and borrowed the business phone. It was getting late and
things were slowing down. They didn’t have much trouble finding the driver
who’d just picked up a fare from the Boswell House address. He showed up again
about five minutes after my call and I went outside to meet him.
“Where to?” he asked when I got in.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 38
“Noplace.”
He threw a suspicious glance up to the mirror, missed me, and turned around.
“What’s the scam, then?”
“The woman you picked up here, where’d you take her?”
He hesitated.
“My intentions are honorable,” I said, and pulled out a couple bucks for him
to see, as if money could indicate a man’s honesty.
He shrugged. It wasn’t his business. He gave out with a street name and some
general directions on how he got there.
“This another hotel?” I asked.
“Nah. It’s a rough patch like this, stores and things. She paid me and stood
in the street till I drove off.”
“No hotels, apartments, stuff like that?”
“Nope.”
“Were any of the stores open?”
“Nah. There was a bar doing business down on the far corner, but it looked
like a lot of walking for her to do with that suitcase. She didn’t want any
help with it, I’m glad to say. That thing looked fifty pounds if it was an
ounce, and my back’s bad enough.”
“Here, get yourself some liniment.” I gave him the two bucks in lieu of a
regular fare and got out. He shook his head, but grinned as he left. Crazy
customers like me were always welcome. The exhaust had hardly settled when I
heard the thunk of a car door as it slammed shut just up the street. A big
bald guy stood next to the Cadillac I’d noticed earlier. He smoothed down the
vast lines of his overcoat and started walking toward me.
He seemed harmless enough, at least at a distance. I was alone and not too
worried about being able to take care of myself. As he drew near I started
having second thoughts.
He was closer to being seven feet tall than six, with a massive, muscled body
under the coat. He wasn’t naturally bald, but shaved his head. He carried his
hat in hand and swung it up in place as he came closer. I settled my own more
firmly so it wouldn’t fall off as I looked up at him. He stopped about a yard
away and regarded me with a calm, confident eye.
“I want you should come with me,” he said in an even, unhurried voice. He
could have said something about the weather and it would have sounded the
same.
A dozen smart-ass answers to that one popped into mind and just as quickly
died away. He wasn’t a cop, because I never heard of a cop driving a Cadillac.
That left two other possibilities and I didn’t think he was some kind of
overgrown hustler.
“You work for Leadfoot Sam?” I asked.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 39
He smiled, not showing his teeth, which was a relief. As it was, he was more
than enough to scare Boris Karloff, let alone a solitary vampire.
“I hope it’s not a formal occasion,” I said, walking with him back to the
Caddy. He didn’t bother to enlighten me as he held open the rear door. I
climbed in, sitting behind a gum-chewing driver who looked only mildly
interested in what was going on. Sleepy eyed, he put it in gear and we rolled
away as soon as the big guy had settled in.
It did occur to me early on that I could have turned down the invitation. I
wanted to chase after Doreen Grey and get the details about her racket with
McAlister. On the other hand, Leadfoot was another source of information, and
he was going out of his way to make himself available. His method was
unorthodox, but for the moment not too threatening.
The drive was short; we stopped at an all-night drugstore less than a mile
away. My escorts took me around to the back entrance, used a key, and walked
me in. We stood in a cluttered storage and pickup area, full of crates and all
kinds of bottles.
“That you,Butler ?” a man called from farther in and down.
“Yeah, Sam,” answered the big guy, ducking as he came through the door. He
carefully shut and locked it. The driver hung back andButler urged me in the
direction of a rusty spiral staircase.
I wasn’t too sure the steps would hold our combined weight. They protested a
little, but not alarmingly so as we trudged down to a dry, dusty room stacked
with more crates. A metal-shaded bulb hung low over a table that must have
been assembled from pieces, since it was too big for the stairway opening. A
long, weedy man in his late thirties lounged in a chair at the far end with
his feet up on it. He wore two-tone shoes, plaid pants, and a flowered vest.
He wasn’t following a fashion so much as trying to set one of his own.
Off to one side, he’d placed a straw hat, brim up, and was tossing cards at
it with tremendous concentration. We had to wait until he’d finished out the
deck. When the cards were used up, he stared at the hat with regret, then
turned his attention to us. He had a narrow face, weak chin, and rather wide,
innocent eyes. His brow furrowed, as though he were trying to remember
something.
“Who’s that?” he askedButler , staring at me with sincere puzzlement.
“He was at McAlister’s hotel. He put Doreen in a cab, goes into the hotel. I
see lights come up in McAlister’s room. The lights go out and he comes out. He
calls a cab, but don’t leave in it, just talks with the driver. I thought you
should maybe want to talk to him, too.”
“I’m Sam. Who’re you?”
“Leadfoot Sam?”
He was a study in blank astonishment. “You can’t be.I’mLeadfoot Sam. Butler,
take this man away, he’s an imposter.” Then he roared out with a room-filling
laugh and Butler grinned.
I didn’t know whether to join them or bolt out before it got worse.
“You’re a killer, Sam,” saidButler .
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 40
“That’s right.” Sam stopped laughing and stared at me meaningfully. “And
don’t anyone forget it.”
If his game was to disconcert me, it was working. Lunatics always leave me
unnerved.
He pointed at a chair. “Sit.”
I looked to make certain he wasn’t talking toButler and walked over to take
the chair. It was a plain wooden job with a worn chintz pad on the seat that
didn’t seem to belong there. Sam was blank eyed again, so I lifted the pad to
see what was under it. He was visibly disappointed when I tossed his hidden
whoopee cushion onto the table.
“Get us something to drink,” he toldButler .
Butlerlocated a crate and wrenched off the lid, nails and all. He pulled out
a flat bottle of booze and set it down between us. Sam unscrewed the cap to
let it breathe.
“No glasses.” he apologized. “But this stuff should kill off most anything
catching.” He offered me the first swig.
The last time I’d swallowed something other than blood, I’d ended up heaving
it into a gutter. Once again, I was trapped by the demands of social ritual.
He misinterpreted my hesitation and took a quick drink to show that it was
all right. I accepted the bottle, put it to my lips, and held my tongue over
the opening, pretending to drink. The drop of booze I did taste was bitter and
burned.
“Is it that bad?” He really seemed concerned.
“I’m not used to the good stuff,” I hedged.
He laughed, a single barking explosion. “Good stuff! Sonny, this is what we
had left over afterRoosevelt made it legal again. It’s been sitting down here
for—Butler, how long has it been sitting down here?”
“A long time, Sam.”
“A long time.”
I tried to look impressed. “You use to run this yourself?”
“I don’t remember the cargos so much as the driving. It was a goddamn long
haul fromCanada to here, and you wouldn’t believe the hours.”
“Gave you a good name at any rate.”
“Yeah, it gave me a good name. Now what’s yours?”
I started to say Jack the Giant Killer and thought better of it, not being
too sure ofButler ’s temper. I opted for my middle name and the name of my
favorite radio hero. “Russell Lament.”
“Pleased to meet you, Russell Lamont.” He took his feet off the table to lean
over and shake hands. “You a cop?”
“No.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 41
“ ‘S’funny, ‘cause I’m getting a cop smell off you.”
I showed him an old press card and covered up the name with my thumb. “I’m a
reporter. Is that close enough to cop to get the smells mixed?”
He didn’t like it, but was still too curious to throw me out. “How about
telling me what your interest is in Sam McAlister?”
“He’s a friend of a friend.”
Sam shook his head, his narrow shoulders slumped tragically. “Aw, that’s not
nice, Jack. You come down here, drink my booze, and then fib. Shame on you.”
“That’s the best I can do unless there’s something in it for me.”
“What’d‘ya have in mind?”
“Information on McAlister and Doreen Grey.”
“Gonna write a big story and name names?”
“Nah, I just want to help some kid out of a jam.”
It was the truth, but he didn’t want to believe it. “Ever think thatyoumight
be in a jam?” His eyes flicked to Butler, who was still looming somewhere in
the back.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
That was a barrel of monkeys to both of them. I smiled, too, just to show
them I was a good sport. I was still smiling whenButler appeared behind me,
gripped the seat of the chair, and steadily lifted it and me to the ceiling.
“You sure about what you can handle?” asked Sam.
Butlerbumped the chair up and down a few times so that my head brushed a
ventilator conduit.
I couldn’t help but smile again. “You should rent him out to carnivals. He’d
make a great ride.”
Sam nodded once,Butler grunted acknowledgment, and without further ceremony,
threw me and the chair across the room.
Chapter Four
I’D BEEN MORE or less ready for that one and went partially incorporeal the
second he released me. Semitransparent and considerably lighter in weight and
mass, I was able to twist around and gain control of my fall. The arrested
spin wouldn’t look natural, but I was banking on the visual confusion of my
blurred movement to cover up the stunt. The bad light shining in their eyes
would help.
The chair clattered as it hit first and skidded out of the way. When my feet
swung under me I went solid again and landed upright on the concrete floor
with only a mild jolt. My hand flailed and struck the far wall as I recovered
balance, but it was much better than having my whole body smash into it.
As though nothing unusual had happened, I made a calm business of
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 42
straightening my clothes. Under all the show, I was plenty mad and needed the
time to cool down before turning to look at them.
Leadfoot Sam andButler were rooted in place and openly gaping. Sam’s fingers
splayed out flat on the table in preparation to jump in any given direction.
When I didn’t move, he groped blindly for the bottle and drained away a
healthy amount with a desperate swallow. It was terrible stuff; his eyes began
to water.Butler came around the table, his mouth still open, and he studied me
good and hard. His shaven head swiveled back to Sam.
“Did you see… ?”
Sam had no answer. Both of them had touched something totally outside their
experience. When the world gives you that kind of a lurch it’s hard to know
what to do. After a long, long moment, silent except for their harsh breathing
and thundering hearts, Sam gave out with a brief laugh. It sounded nervous and
artificial compared with his previous efforts. Whatever control he thought he
had of the situation was lost, and that sick little exhalation was his
response to the painful truth.
I came forward and leaned my hands on the table. Sam sat back in his chair,
unconsciously putting distance between us.
“TellButler to take a break,” I said. I used no influence on him; it wasn’t
necessary.
“Yeah.” Not an answer or a question, the word came out of him all on its own,
a meaningless sound. The jokes and threats were gone now. He was afraid.
Butlersensed it and didn’t want to move. I fixed on his eyes and told him to
relax. Some of the sap went out of him. Without further hesitation, he turned
and trudged up the spiral stairs. Somewhere above a door closed, leaving me
and Sam alone in the basement.
Sam’s hands were under the table and I could guess why. He’d be packing a gun
the way a shop girl carries her face powder; it was part of the daily uniform.
I pretended not to notice and let him keep it if it made him feel better. I
didn’t feel like going to the trouble of taking it away.
“We need to talk, Sam.”
He slowly nodded. I took my time picking up the chair and bringing it back to
the table. It was a tough old hunk of wood and hardly showed any new scratches
as I put it right and eased onto it again.
“Where you been tonight, Sam?”
The question was plain enough, but not what he’d expected. “I been around.”
“Around where?”
“The Hot Spot.”
“What’s that, a bar?”
“Yeah.”
“Anybody see you there?”
“Anyone who wants to bet on the game that’s coming up.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 43
“How long were you there?”
His answer left him well covered for the time of McAlister’s murder. I was
disappointed.
“Where wasButler ?”
“With me.”
“Now tell me about Stan McAlister.”
He’d lost some of his fear and was almost comfortable. “What about Stan?”
“I know you were after him.”
“He owes me money. What’d‘ya expect?”
His use of the present tense wasn’t lost on me. He hadn’t heard the bad news
yet, that or he was wasting time as a bookie when he should have been acting
in the movies. “I don’t expect someone like you to take bets on margin.”
He was a little embarrassed. “It happens to the best of us.”
“How’d it happen to you?”
“We were having a few drinks and I was just drunk enough to do it. I went
over the records later, saw that he owed me big, and gotButler to start
looking for him. I got a lot of people looking for him, but he must have heard
about it because he’s lost himself good this time.”
“You got any people with a grudge on?”
“Say again?”
“You or your people want to bump him off?”
“Huh? Why should I do that? If he gets bumped, I can’t collect my two grand.
I’m not so rich I can shrug off that kinda loss. Is someone after him? Is that
why you’re asking all this?”
“You could say that. Who wants to kill him?”
“Not me. You ask around.”
“I’m asking right here. What do you know about his business? Who’d he come in
contact with?”
“How the hell should I know? I just take their bets; I don’t care how they
get their money. Why don’t you ask him?”
“I can’t. C’mon, Sam, give me a name.”
“There’s Doreen Grey.”
“Uh-huh, who else?”
“He’s seeing a little blond named Kitty, but I don’t remember if she had a
last name.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 44
“What do you know about her?”
“Only that she’s cute as a button. He takes her around, shows her the sights.
I think she’s too clean for him, but he’s had others like her before.”
“Yeah?”
“You know the type, girls that like to slum. They look peaches and cream on
the outside but inside they got a taste for… well, Stan ain’t exactly rock
bottom, but he’s pretty close.”
“You don’t like him?”
“I don’t give a damn one way or another about him. He’s a customer. All I
want is the money he owes me.” Most of his confidence was back. “Your turn:
what’s your game with Stan?”
“I already told you, I’m trying to get some kid out of a jam. You gonna
callButler down for another tumbling act?”
The reminder put him off a little, or so I thought. “Nah, I don’t need to do
anything like that. What kinda jam?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Just trying to be friendly. You been asking a lot of questions and I been
giving you the straight dope, so you at least give me one thing: where’s he
hiding?”
“He isn’t. Tell me about Doreen Grey. If you’ve gotButler watching for you,
why didn’t he bring her in?”
“Huh? Doreen? She wouldn’t know anything. She hangs around Stan, not the
other way around.”
He sounded so certain that I briefly wondered if McAlister himself had even
known about the trick mirror—but only briefly. “She a girlfriend?”
“Her and a dozen others that think they are.”
“You mean he’s a pimp?”
“No, nothing like that, though I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s just got a
way with him and women. I wish I could figure it out, I’d bottle it and retire
rich and happy.”
“Is Doreen Grey her real name?”
“Grow up, kid. Women like her never had a real name.”
“Women like her?”
“She’s a hustler, or was. Calls herself an actress or model. Do I have to
tell you what kind of acting?”
“Does she do photography?”
“I heard she sits on both sides of the camera. She’s got a little studio for
all the dirty work.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 45
“Where?”
It was on the same street where the cabbie had dropped her off.
“This studio got a name or number?”
“I dunno. A place like that doesn’t advertise to the general public. It’s
over a grocer’s, second floor, you can’t miss it.”
“You know a lot about it, ever been there?”
He only grinned.
I felt I’d gotten all the information I was going to get and stood up to
leave.
“Uh-uh,” he said. “You stay right there. We’re not finished.”
“It’s getting late, Sam. I gotta go.”
He brought his hands above the table. One of them held a fistful of black
revolver. He was smiling all over his face again as he leveled it on me. “Not
just yet, you don’t.”
I sighed, trying to be patient. “Okay, what is it?” “Tell me where Stan is.”
“With the cops.” “The cops? What for?”
“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Cut the crap and tell me what’s going on.”
If he’d been more polite, I might have answered without thinking. There was
no reason not to tell him about McAlister’s death, but I have an inherent
dislike of being pushed around, and he’d pushed me plenty already.
“You’ll read it in the morning papers,” I said, and moved to go up the spiral
stairs. Behind me I heard the soft double click that meant he’d thumbed back
the hammer.
“Hold it, Lamont, not unless you want one right now.”
I paused and looked at him. “Brother, I’ve already had more than one. All
they do is put holes in the suit and make me mad.”
“Think you’re tough?”
“Let’s put it this way… do you really want to end up the evening with a hunk
of dead meat on your hands?”
“I don’t have to kill you,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, you’re too late for that,” I muttered. He was getting on my nerves
with the thing.
“You step back here and sit like a good boy.”
That tipped the scales for me. He needed a lesson. I turned, made sure he was
watching, and vanished. When I re-formed, I was right behind him. It only took
a moment, not nearly enough time for him to understand what he’d just seen or
to begin to react to it. I wrapped one hand over his mouth and clamped another
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 46
around the revolver. The idea was to prevent it from going off by keeping the
barrel from turning, but I’d forgotten that by cocking it, it had already
turned. But the gun didn’t go off when his finger twitched. The back of my
thumb was between the firing pin and the bullet.
Ouch.
It wasn’t nearly as awful as actually getting shot. The pain was best
compared to a bad toe stubbing—brief, but of an intensity all out of
proportion to the area involved. I knew now why they called it a hammer, since
the firing pin had neatly nailed itself into me. My hand jerked away, taking
the gun along, and I had to release my hold on Sam. I shoved him across the
room and pried back the hammer to free my thumb from its painful trap. I must
have looked like an idiot standing there alternately shaking my hand down and
sucking the side of my punctured digit.
Then Leadfoot Sam gave me something else to think about when he caught his
balance, turned, and broke out a nasty-looking switchblade. In his confusion
over the last few seconds, he must have forgotten that I was the one with the
gun. I still held it loosely in his direction and was grinning at him.
Actually it was less of a grin and more like a show of teeth. My fangs weren’t
out, but the effect was just as satisfactory, if I could tell anything from
his flinching reaction.
“Hold it, Sam. Start thinking twice.”
He did, with his wild eyes fastening on the revolver in an interesting
mixture of rage and fear. His next move might be to callButler down, but I
didn’t want any more witnesses. He needed distracting.
“See this?” I broke the cylinder open, pushed the extractor rod, and let the
bullets drop out. He stared, wondering what the gag could be. I turned the gun
upside down to get a firm hold on the grip and cylinder, then gave them each a
hard twist in opposite directions.
The metal groaned quietly and snapped. I knew I was strong enough to damage
the thing, but was pleasantly surprised at this development. I tossed the two
pieces on the table. Sam stared, his jaw dragging the floor again. I was still
grinning.
“Sam?”
He appeared to be very sick.
“Do you know what evil lurks in the hearts of men?”
He made a sick little sound in his throat.
“Well, I do.” At that, I reached up and flicked my index finger hard against
the bare bulb of the room’s single light. The glass shattered with a dull pop
and plunged us into total darkness.
The sick sound began to descend into a prolonged whimper.
“So you watch yourself from now on… because that’s what I’ll be doing.”
I couldn’t see him—our complete insulation from outside light prevented
that—but I could hear his heart banging away, and by now I could clearly scent
the fear smell rolling off him like a tide. He’d recover soon enough, maybe
even convince himself he’d been tricked, but he’d never forget it. I didn’t
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 47
care, as long as he gave me a wide berth from now on.
Dematerializing, I swept past him, making sure he got thoroughly chilled.
Some spine-tingling laughter would have been appropriate, but I didn’t trust
mine to be sinister enough for the occasion.
Once up the stairs, I bumbled my invisible way out.Butler and the driver were
still in the back storage area, quite oblivious to what had been going on in
the basement. I didn’t bother with them and seeped through the door into the
rear alley, where the Caddy was parked. The keys were gone, but Escott had
once taught me how to do a neat hot-wire job. I figured after all the trouble
I’d been put through, they owed me a ride back. Neither of them made it out of
the building in time to see me driving away.
I’d spent long enough on my forced detour and went straight to Doreen Grey’s
studio. The general location was a short cross street with T intersections at
both ends. Down on the corner the bar was open, but everything else was dark.
A single grocery store with hand-painted signs obscuring the dusty windows
took up space in the middle of the block on the left side.
I parked the Caddy some distance away and walked. Next to the grocery door,
narrow stairs led up to the second floor. On the vertical part of each step
someone had carefully painted advertisements for the businesses within. None
of them had to do with photography.
Nothing to do but bull on and hope that Sam’s information was as square as he
claimed. The stairs brought me to a long, dim hall lined with doors at regular
intervals. The hall went through the width of the building and ended with
another identical opening at the far end that served the next street over.
I checked each door and its sign. Two of them were empty and for rent, and
one of them had no sign at all, only a number painted onto the aging wood. It
was sufficiently different from the rest to invite closer inspection.
Listening, I could pick up no sound from the other side. With no change in my
posture I sieved through, solidified, and straightened in an unlighted room.
The darkness was thick even for me. A little seepage from the hall around the
base of the door was barely sufficient for my eyes to use.
A table and some old chairs constituted the room’s total inventory, unless
you counted the dust in the comers. As a reception area, it was stark and
discouraging. Opposite the entry door was another, firmly closed. I listened
here as well, then passed through.
The room on the other side was as pitch black as my basement hiding place.
Since my change, true darkness for me was rare, so this was not a comfortable
thing to experience—especially when my ears told me I wasn’t alone. I held
perfectly still. If I couldn’t see them, they certainly couldn’t see me.
Odds were that the single set of lungs and swiftly beating heart belonged to
Doreen Grey. She’d probably heard my footsteps in the entry and was scared to
death.
“Doreen?” I asked, hoping to put her at ease.
My voice seemed very loud in the claustrophobic blackness, but not so loud as
her brief, terrified scream and the gunshot that followed.
The muzzle flash fixed an image of the whole room in my eyes. I got a general
impression of the layout of the furnishings and a specific one of Doreen
crouched in a corner holding a pistol in my direction. Her eyes and mouth were
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 48
wide open, her arms held stiff and straight. All that crowded onto my retinas
to be sorted out later, since a split second after the shot I was too busy
ducking to think about it. Bullets don’t cause me any permanent damage, but I
don’t enjoy getting hit.
“Doreen! It’s me—the guy with the cab fare!”
No second shot came.
“What?” Her voice sounded as shaky as I felt.
“I was at the Boswell House—cab fare—remember?”
“Wha-what do you want?”
“Talk, that’s all. Put down the gun.”
“No.”
A sensible answer—if I were really dangerous to her. She was about three
yards to my left and I was flat on the floor with no other cover within reach.
Not having all the time in the world to talk her out of her fear, I opted for
a more direct method and vanished.
I floated toward her, extending invisible arms until we touched. She was
already shivering and gave out with a violent shudder at this freezing
contact. I got very close, positioning what would be my hand over hers and her
gun and making sure my thumb was well clear of moving parts. It might go off,
but this time the noise didn’t matter.
A good thing, too. She shrieked like a crazy woman when I re-formed holding
onto her like a lover. She was ready to kick and fight till doomsday so I
pried the gun from her hands and quickly backed off. Suddenly released, she
stumbled away and scrambled for the door, sobbing all the way. She wrenched it
open and escaped to the reception room while I was taking the gun off cock and
slipping on the safety. I caught up with her again in the second she spent
fumbling to unlock the outer door.
She screamed and kept on screaming when I slipped an arm around her waist to
pull her back. I put a hand over her mouth and tried to talk her into calming
down. Eventually she did—not from my efforts, but from simple lack of energy
and oxygen. Her legs stopped thrashing and caved in. Propping her up seemed
like too much work, so we both sank to the floor. I held her firmly but took
away my hand so she could breathe.
She collapsed against me, still sobbing. Not knowing what else to do, I
cradled her and told her everything was all right and hoped it would get
through. When she seemed settled, I reached up with a questing hand and
flicked on the overhead light. It hurt my eyes until they adjusted to the
brightness.
“You okay?” I asked. A dumb question, but every opening can’t be clever.
The sobbing had diminished to irregular hiccups. She twisted around to see
me.
“Remember me now? I’m one of the good guys.”
She shook her head in denial and struggled to find her feet. I let her go,
being between her and the nearest exit, and stood up as well. She backed away
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 49
to the opposite wall and turned to stare. There wasn’t much of a show to see,
all I did was dust off my knees and straighten my hat.
“How’d you get here?” she asked, her voice thick.
“I talked to your cab driver and he told me where he dropped you. Your former
landlord gave me your name. Mine’s Jack.”
“What do you want?”
“Only to talk. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She still wasn’t ready to believe me. She kept her back to the wall and
walked crab-wise to the other door and slipped into the next room, hitting the
light. I followed and watched her pace nervously around, her eyes on the
floor.
“Looking for this?” I held up her automatic.
She stopped dead cold, her heart racing fit to break.
“Take it easy, darling. I’ll just keep it for the time being.” I made a
business of returning it to my pocket. “Why did you try to shoot me?”
“I didn’t know… know that…”
“What? That I wasn’t Leadfoot Sam? Why are you afraid of him?”
“Because it’s stupid not to be.”
If I’d been sitting alone in the dark, scared shitless from listening to
approaching footsteps, I might have done the same thing. I could handle
someone like Sam, but Doreen didn’t have my unnatural advantages.
“It’s a nice little gun. Did Stan give it to you?”
“It’s mine.”
“This place, too?”
“Yeah—yes.”
A plain backdrop nailed to the ceiling covered one wall. Several different
light stands were aimed at it. A stack of pillows cluttered the floor next to
a dressing screen. Another closed door interrupted the rear wall. I checked
it. The room beyond was a washroom converted to a darkroom, its single window
made lightproof with a thick coat of black paint.
“Where’s your camera?”
She didn’t answer, but her eyes darted to her suitcase, which was parked by
the pillows.
“What about your photos?”
“I don’t have any.”
“A photographer with no photos. C’mon, Doreen.”
“Look, you just get out of here.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 50
“It’s too late for that.” I circled around and shut the inner and outer
doors.
She kept plenty of distance between us and ended up against the backdrop. A
photo of her now would not be too flattering. Her carroty hair was in every
direction and her clothes were thoroughly mussed about. Both knees on her
stockings sported ladders. She became conscious of me looking at her and
abruptly retreated to her purse to find a powder puff. While she repaired
things, I brought two chairs from one side and set them down facing one
another.
“Park it here, Doreen. It’s time for a heart-to-heart.”
She closed her compact with a decisive snap. “Is it?”
“Uh-huh. It’s either me, the cops, or Leadfoot Sam. Take your pick.”
She didn’t like any of the choices. “Who are you, then? Why are you here? I
don’t know anything.”
“Have a seat and we’ll find out.”
Her jaw settled into firm defiance. The tears and panic were gone and she was
ready to deal with me. She glared, waiting for my next move.
Every little bit helped.
It took longer than usual. She was on her guard and I didn’t want to overdo
the pressure. This was different from the simple suggestions I’d shot atButler
and the hotel manager. A give-and-take conversation was more complicated,
requiring greater subtlety and care on my part.
“You can relax, Doreen,” I whispered.
After a long, long moment the tension leached from her posture.
“No one’s going to hurt you.”
Her lips parted and her eyes went glassy.
“Relax…”
Her face softened as her lids drooped and closed. She was asleep on her feet
and as vulnerable now as she ever would be. I could get the answers I needed.
All I had to do was come up with the right questions and listen.
While I thought on where to start, I noticed her body as though for the first
time—her long legs and crown of fluffy red hair. I became very aware of her
beating heart and the blood surging through it. I recognized the feeling
stirring within me, but this time its irresistible intensity was startling.
Hunger.
Or thirst.
For a vampire they’re much the same.
The red life I’d taken and exchanged with Bobbi was as deliriously fulfilling
as any sex I’d ever experienced as a living man. The blood I drank from
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 51
animals gave me the joy of pure energy and strength greater than I’d ever
imagined. Now I was facing a combination of the two: to have human blood in
quantity—and to take it from this woman.
The temptation was a very solid, thriving thing and much more difficult to
put off than on other occasions when I’d faced it with Bobbi. I had always
taken care with her and found it easy not to overindulge for fear of hurting
her. The difference this time was the woman herself. She was a stranger to me,
unimportant, nothing more than a small-time blackmailer and hustler.
Someone no one would miss.
Her scent filled my head. Human flesh, a trace of cheap perfume, salt from
the dried tears on her face, and beneath them all, the bloodsmell. The rest
were like bits of flotsam floating upon its deep river. I licked my lips, my
tongue brushing against my lengthening canines. To drink from that dark river…
I caressed her neck with the backs of my fingers; first one side, then the
other. Lightly. Softly. She was utterly fascinating. It was as though, turn in
turn, she were hypnotizing me.
Eyes shut, she responded with a slight tremor and sigh. I knew well how to
give pleasure. She would love me for what I was capable of giving and doing to
her. Because of the influence I was exerting she would not be able to help
herself.
My arms wrapped protectively around her, pulling her body close. She swayed
and rested against me, her heart quickening. Her head went to one side,
exposing the tender white column of her throat. I tasted it with a slow kiss.
The big vein pulsed rapidly beneath my lips. My mouth yawned wide, my teeth
gently brushing over the thin barrier of her skin. We were both trembling. The
blood suddenly welled up, pouring through me like scarlet fire as the first
shock of ecstasy took us.
She would love me and I would love her. Iwasloving her.
Her heart fluttered against my chest. Her breath was full and warm as it
whispered over my neck.
I had wanted her, I was taking her, and she was loving it. I drank from her
and drank deeply. She was an endless fountain of shimmering strength.
Not endless.
It didn’t matter. She clung to me; she didn’t want it to stop. Besides, no
one need ever know.
No one but me.
Conscience invaded craving. They mixed, separated, and tore through my brain
like summer lightning.
I would love her to death.
I drew back, as though it were part of our love dance. She sighed again,
turning it into a protesting moan. Two threads of blood trickled down her neck
from the wounds I’d made.
To death.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 52
But no one need ever…
Teetering.
I wanted her badly, more than anything else I’d ever dreamed of wanting.
To death.
I backed off until we ceased to touch. It helped. It helped more to picture
her limp and heavy in my arms, her skin gray, her heart silent. I had killed
before, but not for this, not for the convenient satiation of hunger.
The room was heavy with bloodsmell. I forced air from my lungs and did not
replace it. I backed off another step.
The fusing of desire and appetite was nothing new and had conquered stronger
men than myself. The absolute power I had over her—over anyone I wished—was an
awful, frightening thing. I retreated from it, seizing on the quickest escape
with a desperate will.
My body dissolved and floated free, tumbling a little from the inertia of its
last faint movement. I remained in that state until the fever ebbed away and
the grip of hunger eased and finally released me. Still, it was a very long
time before I re-formed, and then only after I’d pushed far away from her. I
drifted through the thin partitions of wood and lath until I stood in the
outside hall of the building.
Air, icy cold and bitter, cut at my throat and lungs. I drew a second painful
breath and a third. It was glorious. I felt like a swimmer unexpectedly
breaking the surface after being sucked to the bottom of a whirlpool. My legs
still shook, but eventually everything settled down as the world started
spinning along its usual course.
I stood and stared at nothing, and tried not to feel what I was feeling.
I felt it, anyway.
Terror.
She could have died. I’d come that close to going over the edge with her. And
I still wanted to finish what I’d started. My hunger was quiet, but not yet
sated, and tugged at me to return to her.
Was it because of my changed condition, or had this always been within me?
Was I a rapist or an animal fulfilling a physical need?
Or both?
I’d had lapses of temper and of sanity and had used them against people; I’d
never before had such a lapse concerning hunger or had ever been so close to
killing because of hunger. Until tonight I’d regarded myself as being a man
with a condition that could be controlled—thatwasunder control.
That safe and comfortable image was altered now, and I wasn’t sure of
anything anymore. I only knew I was scared.
And inside me, her blood fused with my own.
She was standing in the same spot when I returned, her face closed and
defenseless with sleep. I made myself look at her, to seeallthat she was, all
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 53
that I’d nearly destroyed. Her name was Doreen. She had a right to feel and
learn and love, to choose for herself. She had a right to live.
She was human. I was not.
I went to the darkroom and wet my handkerchief under the tap there and used
it to clean her throat. The marks were small and hadn’t bled much. She might
not notice them. I drew her collar up a bit, then touched her cheek, not with
desire, but with a caring that had been missing before.
“Wake up, honey.”
Her eyes flickered open.
“You okay?” I wasn’t sure if she would remember anything.
She nodded. One hand came up to touch the spot on her neck where I’d kissed
her, then fluttered away in confusion. “I think… I mean…”
I searched her face for the least sign of awareness of what had happened. The
only thing I could see was puzzlement. I should have been relieved, but was
just too emotionally hammered out to feel much of anything. Shoving my hands
firmly in my coat pockets, I turned my back to her and took a few aimless
steps. “There’s a bar down on the corner. You think it’s still open?” “Yeah,
it’ll be open.”
“I thought maybe I could buy you something.” It was half statement, half
question.
She accepted the offer with relief and gratitude. It went double for me.
She wrapped up tight and we walked across the street to a place with no name
that I had noticed. Socially, it was somewhere between the Top Hat and the
Stumble Inn. I bought a couple drinks at the bar and carried them to a booth
in the rear, where we sat opposite each other. She put half of hers away in
one needy gulp and fell back to catch her breath.
“All right?” I asked.
“Yeah. It was getting pretty cold up there in the studio.”
“Cold?” I was worried about how much I’d taken from her.
“They practically turn the heat off at night. I guess the idea is to
discourage tenants from doing what I was trying to do. They got ordinances
against taking a flop in a joint zoned for office space.”
“You have no place else to go?”
“I figured it’d be okay for one night, then I could look for another hotel.”
“Tell me about Stan.”
Her face clouded and started to crumple. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
Our encounter must have left a few positive aftereffects somewhere in her
mind. Either that or she really did want to talk. I kept my supernatural
influences to myself and waited her out.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 54
“It’s just—the stuff I’ve done…” Tears ran out of both eyes and she blindly
pawed the contents of her purse.
I gave her a clean handkerchief. I usually carried an extra. “It’s all right,
Doreen. I’ve seen a thing or two.”
She brought the snuffling under control and cleared her throat by draining
the other half of her glass. “Stan was the one with the ideas,” she explained,
finally jumping in.
“Like that fancy mirror in his room?”
“Yeah. He was already doing stuff, but only in a small way. He’d get love
letters and use them—that kind of thing.”
“Rich girls?”
“Not rich. He wasn’t in that crowd, but he did go for ones that had money of
their own and a reputation to keep. He could spot a spoiled brat looking for
thrills a mile away, then move in and take them. He’d get enough money from
them to live on, but not so much that they’d scream for a lawyer or cop. Stan
was careful not to push too hard. If it looked like she’d kick up a fuss, he’d
back off and find someone else easier to deal with.”
“How did you two get together?”
“He needed a photographer.”
“And… ?”
“He heard I did artistic photos, so he came around and asked if I was
interested. He had everything all worked out about the hotel rooms. A place
like the Boswell don’t have any kind of house man, so it was easy to set up.
We just moved in and I started taking pictures.”
“He didn’t mind being photographed?”
She smiled crookedly. “No, he enjoyed it. When he wasn’t playing Prince
Charming for the girls, he was just about the vainest creature on God’s green
earth. He used to flip through the prints I made, get himself pretty worked
up…” She began to blush. I was glad that she could still do it.
I smiled wanly. “I know what it’s like, Doreen.”
“I guess we all do.”
“What happened with Kitty Donovan?”
“She was just another mark.”
“You get pictures of them together?”
“No. She liked her own place better. Stan never could get her into that hotel
bed.”
I was happy to hear it. “Then why’d he stick with her?”
“Because of the people she knew. She was his ticket into the good places and
the people with real money.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 55
“Like Marian Pierce’s crowd?”
“Yeah, she was part of it. Stan thought she was ripe for picking, except he
couldn’t get past that crazy boyfriend of hers.” The smile melted away. “Oh,
God, I can’t believe he’s gone.”
I was fresh out of handkerchiefs and gave her the drink I’d bought as window
dressing. “You loved him?”
“I didn’t have any reason to, so I guess I did. That’d explain all this,
wouldn’t it?” She gulped down a sob and got control again. “Look, would you
tell me what happened to him? I couldn’t ask the cops.”
“And they didn’t tell you?”
“Why should they? I was listening while they were in Stan’s room. The way
they were talking about him… I put it together that he was… was dead. I
couldn’t say anything, either. I was afraid they’d take me in if they found
out about the racket we had going. It was horrible.”
And what I had to tell her was no comfort. I kept it short. “Stan was killed
at Kitty Donovan’s place. Someone knocked him out and stabbed him. It was
quick. He wouldn’t have felt much.”
She put her head down in her hands, moaning. I left the table to get another
drink.
“Trouble?” asked the bartender.
“Death in the family.”
He was sympathetic and pushed my money away. “On the house.”
“Thanks.”
“After this one, get her home, make her sleep.”
“You know her?”
“She’s been in a few times for a beer. She won’t be used to the hard stuff.
It’ll hit her like a brick pretty soon.”
“I’ll watch out.” I went back to the booth. “Doreen?”
She raised her head with difficulty and blew her nose into the sodden linen.
“I’m… I’ll be all right.”
“Sure you will.”
“Do the cops know who did it? Do they know why?”
“They’re looking for Kitty.”
“That little girl scout? She couldn’t do anything like that.”
“I don’t think she did. You knew him. Who wanted to kill him?”
She shook her head and kept on shaking it. “Leadfoot Sam, maybe. Stan owed
him a bundle. That’s why I got out while I could. I didn’t want him learning
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 56
about me and Stan or he’d try and muscle it out of me. I don’t have that kind
of money, but he wouldn’t believe that.”
“I talked with Sam earlier.”
“You…” she blinked against the tears with surprise.
I made a calming gesture. “He’s not so tough once you learn how to handle
him. Anyway, he doesn’t know what’s happened and I figure that that’s the
truth. He can’t collect money from a dead man, so he’s not really a suspect
with me. Can’t you think of anyone else? One of your clients?”
“Jeez, I just don’t know. There were plenty of ‘em sore as hell or hurt or
embarrassed, but not enough to kill. He was careful, I said.”
“Did he ever call one in?”
“What’d‘ya mean?”
“The photos, did he ever use one and blow things for the girl?”
She was genuinely astonished. “Not that I know of. He only threatened, it
wouldn’t do him any good to push it that far. He’d just hold it over their
heads. They’d either call his bluff or pay off. Almost all of them paid off.
He knew how to pick and choose. If they didn’t pay, he’d just let it go and
find someone else to work on.”
“Did he always take money?”
“Brother, that’s all he would take.”
“What about jewelry?”
“Too much trouble to hock or sell. He left that for them to do.” She finished
off the drink. “Y’know, maybe it was that crazy boyfriend of Marian’s.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Stan said the guy was nuts, even took a swing at him once.”
“When and where?”
“I dunno. One of those fancy places. Stan ducked in time and laughed about it
later. He said all he did was have a dance with Marian, then the guy comes in
and goes berserk.”
I could believe that. “When did this happen?”
She leaned her head on one hand, mussing her hair. “I dunno, I dunno. I’m too
tired to think. Will you just take me back?”
“Did Stan have any hiding places?”
“Huh?”
“Where’d he put his valuables?”
“Noplace.”
“He must have stashed things somewhere. What about the bank? Did he have a
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 57
safe-deposit box?”
“No, nothing like that. He carried everything with him. Not that he ever had
much.”
I remembered McAlister’s turned-out pockets. “Wasn’t it risky?”
“Safer than leaving it at that fleabag hotel. Stan had a gun, too.”
“All the time?”
“Of course.”
Whoever had clobbered and stabbed him hadn’t given him the chance to use it.
“It wasn’t on him.”
The news didn’t matter much to Doreen. Her head had slipped down onto her
arms again. Those three doubles were having their effect.
“C’mon, honey. I’ll get you home and put you to bed.”
“You’n what army?” she mumbled, more than half-gone. I got her to her feet,
waved a good-night to the bartender, and walked her out. The cold air revived
her a little, but she leaned against me, as much for comfort as for warmth. We
staggered up the stairs to the studio and I steadied her while she fumbled out
the key and gave it over.
The entry was dark as before, but we’d left the light on in the inner room.
Now it was off.
“Whatizzit?” she asked crossly when I wouldn’t let her go in.
I signed for her to stay quiet and listen. The whole building seemed to be
listening. Except for her own heart and lungs, I heard nothing. I went inside.
When I turned on the light, she followed, tiptoeing unsteadily.
There weren’t that many places to search, but the place had been thoroughly
turned over. Her suitcase was open, the contents scattered, the pillows
gutted, a file cabinet gaped in one corner. The darkroom was in the same
shape.
“What did you keep here?” I asked.
She was too far gone to answer right away. “Photos, negatives, chemicals,
nothing important. No cash.”
“Maybe they didn’t want cash.” I checked some of the prints from the file
cabinet that now lay on the floor. Girls striking different poses wearing
little more than a provocative smile was the predominant theme. I recognized
the backdrop and pillows.
Doreen knelt by her suitcase and methodically shoved the clothes back inside.
She tenderly turned over the smashed remains of her camera, then left it on
the floor. “They got all my negs.”
“What was on them?”
She sniffled, found a dry handkerchief among her things, and blew her nose.
“What’d‘ya think? Stan’s gone and now I got nothing. Absolutely, goddamn
nothing. I’m leaving this town before they take even that away.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 58
“To where?”
She shrugged and began to shuffle photos into a pile. I bent to help her, but
a creaking floorboard in the entry caught my attention. I didn’t have time to
do more than straighten and turn before Leadfoot Sam walked in on us.
Chapter Five
DOREEN LOOKED UP, blanched, and joined me in staring at him. The first to
move was Sam. The second he recognized me, his hand jumped to his overcoat
pocket and smoothly pulled out a gun. It was another revolver, identical to
the one I’d twisted in two. Maybe he got them in sets.
“No need for that, Sam,” I said, taking a long step away from Doreen. If he
planned to start shooting, I walked her to be well clear of me.
“Shut up and hold still.”
I held still. His voice was even enough, but the short nose of the revolver
trembled, and he was nearly as white as Doreen. I’ve made quite an impression
on him earlier, but it hadn’t been as effective as I’d hoped. “Hands up and
out.”
I complied. It gave him a shade more confidence, which gave me more time to
think. I could risk things and try controlling him with a quick suggestion,
but he looked too nerved up yet for anything fancy. The wrong word from me and
we’d all end up feeling sorry for what happened.
“Thought you had me going, huh?” he finally said, with just the barest hint
of desperation.
“Going?”
“With that crap you pulled earlier off that radio show. You think I don’t
know a con trick when I see one?”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” I said sheepishly.
Given half a chance, people have a remarkable capacity for self-delusion, and
if I could tell anything from the relief on his mug, Leadfoot Sam was proving
to be no different from the rest. He’d really needed me to say something like
that. Never mind that my generality was pretty meaningless, I had vaguely
agreed with whatever explanation he’d invented for himself, and now all was
right with the world. He relaxed by a single degree and smiled a thin,
superior smile.
“It was a good one, wasn’t it?” I asked, as though I’d been caught fair and
square.
“How’d you do it?”
“I’ll show you sometime. It works better in the dark.” .
He didn’t take to that particular bait by obligingly turning off the lights,
nor did he put away the gun. His eyes flicked away from me only once. “Hello,
Doreen.”
She’d sobered up quite a bit in the last minute and was probably wondering
what the hell we were talking about. “Hi, Sam. What’re you doing here?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 59
“I came to collect on a debt.”
“What debt? I don’t owe you anything. I don’t owe anyone anything.”
“Sure you do, sweetheart. You were partners withStanley , weren’t you?”
“I hardly knew—”
“Can it. I’ve just been over to Stan’s room and found that sweet little
racket the two of you had set up there. You must have raked in plenty. As I
see it, partners are responsible for each other’s debts.”
“But, Sam…”
“Shut up. And you. Lament—if that’s your name—were you holding out on me so
you could have first crack at her?”
“Holding out?”
“You never told me about Stan getting knifed, or did you do it yourself? Is
there a picture of your girlfriend somewhere in Doreen’s photo collection?”
“You’re full of beans.”
“Maybe you forgot to tell Doreen about it like you forgot to tell me.”
“I see you still managed to find out.”
“Oh, yeah, after a ton of time and trouble. The cops don’t exactly give that
information away to the public, you know.” He turned a sour face on Doreen.
“And what kind of line has he been feeding you, sweetheart? What do you know
about this guy, anyway?”
She said nothing, but he’d gotten the wheels turning in her head—in the wrong
direction as far as I was concerned.
“He’s not here to get his picture took, is he? What’s he want from you?”
“He don’t—doesn’t want anything,” she said.
Sam shook his head sadly. “The world don’t work that way, Doreen. You oughta
know that by now. Everybody wants something. What’d he come to you for?”
She licked her lips, her tone guarded. “He was just asking about Stan, is
all. Who mighta killed him, like that.”
“And you never thought he mighta done it himself?”
She hadn’t, and turned her doubts full onto me.
“Don’t let him rattle you, Doreen,” I said out of the side of my mouth.
”Remember, I’m one of the good guys.“
“Sez you,” put in Sam.
“How about you tell us who did the redecorating here?” I asked, wanting to
change the subject.
“I only just got here. Pin it on someone else, Lamont,” He bent an eye on
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 60
Doreen. “Is that the name he gave you? Russell Lamont?”
Her answer was easy enough to read. I’d lost her trust, at least for the
moment.
“And what makes you a better bargain, Sam?” I countered.
His attention switched back to me. “Doreen knows what to expect from her old
friends.”
“Like a shiv in the throat?” I ventured.
“We’ll see.” He backed up to the door and whistled. A moment later a man that
I recognized as Sam’s driver walked in. He was followed byButler , who had to
duck his head slightly to miss the lintel. He took in the wrecked room, Doreen
on the floor by her suitcase, and finally focused on me. He then raised the
kind of smile you don’t want to see in your worst nightmares.
“You took Sam’s car,” he stated flatly.
I said nothing, since it’s pointless to argue with facts.
“Where is it?” Sam asked him.
“Just down the street. It seems okay.”
Sam glared at me. “You better hope it is, or that’ll be another one I owe
you.” He nodded at the driver. “Take her back to the joint. We’ll follow in
the Cadillac.”
Doreen balked. “Where?”
“Just a quiet place so we can talk, sweetheart. If you’re good, I’ll buy you
an ice-cream soda. You and I are going to cut a deal over Stan’s outstanding
markers.”
“I don’t have any money, Sam.”
“Not yet, you don’t… but you will. I’m just gonna make sure I’m around for my
share.”
“Please,” she said to me. “Don’t let him.”
Sam centered the gun on her. “All we’re gonna do is have a nice talk, Doreen.
You kick up a fuss and I’ll show you how mean I can get if I try.”
“It’ll be all right,” I said. “Go on, sit tight and wait for me.”
She looked at me as though I’d gone crazy and only needed a straitjacket to
make it official.
“I’ll come for you.” I hoped she’d believe me.
Sam andButler laughed at this. The driver hauled her up and dragged her out
the door. The laughter did wonders for her confidence, but I was at last able
to relax. With Doreen out of the way and relatively safe, my choices on how to
handle the situation had increased considerably. The only thing I really had
to worry about now was how to keep my suit in one piece.
“Ready to get down to business?” I asked once they were long gone.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 61
Sam pretended to be impressed. “He still thinks he’s a tough guy. Look him
over,Butler , find out why he’s so tough.”
Butlerapproached, keeping out of Sam’s line of fire, and slapped at me with
big hands. I didn’t quite fall over. He found Doreen’s automatic right away.
“This must be it.” He grinned.
“Is that it?” Sam asked me.
“As far as you’re concerned,” I said.
He shot me a wary look and toldButler to continue. He pocketed the gun. My
notebook, pencil, keys, and wallet were extracted and examined, the latter
catching the most interest.
“It sez he’s Jack R. Fleming.”Butler squinted at myNew York driving license.
Sam nodded, as though he’d known all along.
“He’s rich, too.” He held up Pierce’s C-note.
“Put it back,” I said softly.
With high good humor,Butler shook his head and stowed the hill away with
Doreen’s pistol. “Now what, Sam?”
“Now you teach him not to be so nosy. But go easy,Butler . I don’t want to
put him to bed with a shovel.”
Butlerlooked me over, trying to decide where to start. He was a man with
total confidence in his own physical capabilities and was probably taking my
lack of fear for bravado. Right away I could tell he didn’t like the smile I
was showing him. He matched it with a nasty one of his own and followed it up
with a fast punch.
He’d had some fight training in his past. Because of his height and massive
build I’d been expecting a slow roundhouse-type swing that could be blocked
with a raised arm. As it was, I only snapped my head out of the way just in
time. His fist brushed my chin, but he caught me flat footed with a lightning
follow-up left that went straight into my stomach.
I doubled over and staggered with all the talking breath knocked out of me,
falling backward over the ripped-up pillows. It was a soft landing, more or
less.Butler stood away from the swirling feathers and waited for me to
recover. I held a hand to the sore spot until it faded, and stood up, stepping
clear of the mess. He totally missed the fact that I was not gasping for air
or showing any of the other usual symptoms of such an attack. In fact, all I
did was grin, and that really put me on his good side.
He had the height and reach on me, but the grin made him forget about those
advantages and move in close. I let him back me up to a corner, left it till
the last possible instant, and went transparent just as he struck. His fist
tickled through my ghostly midsection and connected solidly with the wall
behind me. The resulting howl of pain from him was almost deafening.
I immediately went solid again. IfButler had noticed me flickering on and off
like a bad light, he was too occupied with his injured hand to think about it.
Leadfoot Sam couldn’t have seen much; I’d taken care to shift so thatButler ’s
body blocked his view of the incident.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 62
Butlertried another left. I was moving fast myself and his anger and pain
were working against him. I caught his wrist in my right hand and returned his
gut punch with interest with the left. He folded up like an old wallet. As
soon as I let go of him he hit the floor and stayed there, gulping and
gasping.
Sam knew his number was up because I was looking in his direction and still
grinning. He showed his own teeth in a sticky grimace and raised his gun to
fire.
“Aw, Sam, now do you want I should break this one in two as well?” I took a
step toward him.
He made that sick little sound deep down in his throat once again and bolted
for the exit. I flashed invisibly ahead of him and got to the entry first. He
slid to a stop on his heels just inches away from me. While he was dancing to
get his balance back, I popped him a light one on his chin. He dropped like a
sandbag.
He was fairly stunned but made a halfhearted attempt to lift the revolver. I
took it away from him, this time without puncturing my thumb. Grabbing a wad
of his clothes in my free hand, I dragged him into the studio, dumping him on
the floor next toButler , who was still nursing his bruised gut. Sam’s long
bones thudded on the bare wood. His arms came up protectively.
“Sam?”
It took him a minute, but he eventually opened his eyes.
“Watch carefully, ”cause you musta missed something the first time around.“ I
opened the cylinder, emptied out the bullets, got a good grip, and twisted as
hard as I could.
Sam whimpered when it snapped.
“Next time it’ll be your neck. You understand that now?”
He nodded a lot. I froze on his eyes and stepped up the pressure just enough
for him to feel it. I wanted him good and scared.
“From now on you stay out of my way. You’re gonna lay off on Doreen, too. You
don’t talk to her, you don’t even think about going near her. You leave her
completely alone. You got that?”
His jaw sagged. I knew I’d finally gotten through to him. I put the two
pieces of his gun in each of his hands.Butler didn’t fuss at all when I picked
his pocket and retrieved my hundred-dollar bill and Doreen’s automatic. I
walked out, pausing long enough in the entry to flick off all the lights.
Somewhere behind me, Leadfoot Sam moaned miserably in the abrupt darkness.
Sam’s remark about buying Doreen a soda hadn’t been lost on me. Within a
quarter hour I took the Caddy out of gear, cut the motor, and coasted to a
stop across the alley entrance to the drugstore. A fresh-looking Ford stood
next to it. Doreen and the driver were probably waiting inside for Sam
andButler to return.
A dim light gleamed in a single rear window of the building. I set the brake
and got out. The place was silent, which could be good or bad.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 63
I slipped inside the back way and went solid, listening hard. The easy
whisper of soft breathing finally drifted to my ears from the direction of the
spiral staircase. Sniffing instinctively like a hunting animal, I picked up a
strong stench of booze and the heavy, familiar tang of bloodsmell.
The stairs led down to pitch darkness. I was reluctant to enter it and
investigate; the hair on my nape was already on end. It was my own fault,
since I’d shattered the overhead bulb myself.
I swallowed dryly, went transparent, and slowly coasted along the twisting
metal rail into the basement. At the foot of the steps I was solid again with
my nerves running on full. The breathing from a single set of lungs continued
with the undisturbed regularity of sleep. I took a chance and lit a match. The
burst of yellow fire flared and settled, revealing the room pretty much as I’d
left it, except for the man sprawled senseless on the floor. He gripped a
flashlight in one hand. It was on, but the batteries were exhausted.
His clothes were sprinkled with liquor and shards of brown bottle glass, and
there was a hell of a bump and cut on his forehead. He was the driver who was
supposed to be watching Doreen. She must not have expected me to return and
had aced him herself when she got the chance. I couldn’t blame her, but it was
an unexpected nuisance. First Kitty and now Doreen… it was really my night for
losing people.
I searched the rest of the store, but she was long gone. I left him to sleep
it off, got in the Caddy, and drove quickly back to the studio. It was empty.
Sam andButler had pulled themselves together and left, hopefully for good.
They were probably busy right now finding the driver in the drugstore
basement.
Doreen’s clothes were still scattered all over the place. I packed whatever I
could find into her suitcase, then carried it away with me as I went to pick
up Escott’s car. Before leaving, I left a note for her hanging prominently
from a slightly dented tripod. Chances were that if she had the moxie to smash
a bottle over a guy’s head, she’d eventually return to pick up her things. My
note had Escott’s office number and directions to call him for the stuff. I
still had some questions for her and no doubt so would Escott after he’d heard
about the evening’s events.
His Nash had come to no harm sitting on the street, but I decided to take it
home and pick up my more expendable Buick later. Though his concern for the
safety of his car had only been a blind to get me here in the first place, it
could do no harm to follow through with the ruse. Lieutenant Blair was a
detail-minded man and I wouldn’t put it past him to check up on me. I wondered
if Escott had managed to talk his way out of his spot. If anybody could, he
was the one to do it. I’d find out later; I had an errand to run now that I
didn’t dare put off.
The Stockyards were cold and quiet. The cattle huddled in their small pens
and only rarely did one of them vocalize their collective misery at this late
hour. The time was ideal for me, with no human eyes to watch as I crouched by
an animal and sucked blood from a vein I’d opened with my teeth. It sounds
pretty bad, but as Bobbi had once pointed out, I didn’t have to kill in order
to feed myself.
What had happened tonight, though, had shaken me from that confident
complacency. I was running scared. The fusion of desire and appetite that I’d
experienced with Doreen had nearly been too much to handle. After all these
months, I thought I knew all there was to know about being a vampire, but
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 64
circumstance and opportunity had proved me wrong, almost dead wrong, as far as
Doreen was concerned.
I wasnevergoing to place myself or anyone else into that kind of a situation
again.
The emotional temptation was easily avoided; all I had to do was swear off
hypnotizing people. The intimate bond required for such deep hypnotic control
was a two-way trap. Breaking free of the one I’d fallen into with Doreen had
been one of the most difficult things I’d ever done. The next time, I might
not be able to do it, therefore, there would benonext time. I would stick with
simple and direct suggestions, nothing more.
As for the physical temptation, I was taking care of that by drinking deeply
from a safe source. Usually I had only to drop by the Stockyards once every
three nights, sometimes four, depending how often Bobbi and I got together.
That would be altered to every other night. My hunger was inescapable, but
easily remedied. To ignore it was to take chances with other lives.
I drank as much as I needed and more until the hot strength surged through
and filled me with its red tide of life. Appetite and a shadowy mental bond
that I barely understood had contributed to the incident; both would be under
sharp control from now on. I only hoped that it would work.
Escott’s office by the Stockyards was closed tight and deserted, so I moved
on and purposely took a route home that led past Bobbi’s hotel. Her
living-room window on the fourth floor was visible from the street. It was
just after three A.M., but her lights were glowing. She always spent at least
an hour winding down from her work at the Top Hat; this was an open invitation
for me to drop in on her. Without thinking, I found a place to park and went
inside.
I took the elevator up and exchanged meaningless pleasantries with the sleepy
operator. He opened the doors and I walked out as I had done a hundred times
before. The doors slid shut behind me and the thing descended back to the
lobby again.
I was halfway down the hall when I realized I absolutely could not go in to
see her, at least not tonight. The truth of it was that I was still uneasy and
Bobbi was perceptive enough to be able to spot it. She would want to know what
was wrong and this wasn’t something I could talk about.
Especially to her.
What I was capable of doing and what I had done frightened me. but mixed in
with the fear was a large chunk of guilt. It wouldn’t matter much to Bobbi
that I’d fed from Doreen as if she’d been one of the cattle in the pens. The
simple fact was that I’d been with another woman. As I saw things, it was more
than enough to destroy our relationship.
No, going in to see Bobbi tonight would be another big mistake. I needed time
to settle down. Tomorrow night would be soon enough. I punched the button and
waited for the elevator to return. The operator didn’t ask questions about my
change of mind, which was just as well.
The hotel lobby should have been deserted at this time of the morning. The
night clerk often napped on the office sofa, and Phil, the hotel detective,
usually hung out in the radio room when he wasn’t making his rounds. Both of
them were now at the front desk with two other men I didn’t know and there was
something about their collective posture that caught my attention.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 65
Phil was a leaner. He leaned against pillars, chairs, tables, whatever was
handy, and rarely put his weight on more than one foot at a time. Now he stood
straight and alert with his hands at his sides and a look on his face that was
no look at all. He’d blanked out all expression and not once did his eyes
flick over to me, though he was certainly aware of the elevator doors when
they opened.
The clerk was a slightly younger man whose name I’d never bothered to catch.
He was also standing straight, with his hands in front of him on the counter
as though he needed it to keep his balance. His eyes were wide and flashed
briefly on me as I emerged into the lobby.
It was subtle stuff to pick up within the space of a couple seconds, but
enough to make me pause.
One of the two strangers slowly turned his head in my direction. The other
continued to face Phil and the clerk and didn’t move. My pause became a full
stop. Something was wrong, but I wasn’t sure what to do about it.
The one looking at me took his time. He had a dark, unpleasant face with an
expression to match, and both his coat and overcoat were unbuttoned. It was
very cold outside and I could think of only one reason why a man would not
bundle up against it.
The hair on my nape began to rise as he broke away and walked over. I waited
for him.
“That your Nash out front?” he asked.
He already knew the answer, so I nodded. “Who wants to know?”
“Come with me and find out.”
“You a cop?” I knew he wasn’t and he knew I knew, and so on. It was part of
the game we were playing. He shook his head. I checked on his partner, who was
still watching Phil and the clerk. No one had moved an inch. “He coming, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Then call him off.”
“Rimik.”
“Okay, Hodge,” the other man answered.
He broke away from the desk, never once turning until he had enough angle and
distance to cover us all. He wasn’t showing any gun, you just knew it was
there. The clerk was freely sweating now. Phil threw a silent question at me;
I shook my head.
“You boys get on with things,” I said. “Business as usual.”
I hey had their own skins to keep in one piece, so no one said a thing as I
walked from the lobby door under escort. It was an armed escort, but we were
busy pretending that everything was normal.
As we stepped outside, a Cadillac with smoked-over windows pulled up. Its
motor was so silent that all you could hear were the tires rolling over the
pavement. These guys liked the classy cars, all right, but I was getting a
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 66
different feeling from this bunch. They were as far removed from Leadfoot Sam
as a tiger is from a tabby cat, and proportionately more dangerous.
I got into the backseat and Rimik climbed in next to me. Hodge sat in front
with the driver. The car was in top shape; I barely noticed when we started to
move.
Rimik was focused on the back of the driver’s neck, but I had no doubt he was
more than prepared to deal with any fast moves on my part. I kept my hands in
the open and watched our route through the front window. I couldn’t see out
the side ones. There was a divider between the front and back, which was
probably also opaque, but they didn’t bother raising it. That could be good or
bad. I was assuming the worse, but too curious to take action about it just
yet. First I’d find out what they were after, then I’d think about getting
away.
We drove over the river and into a familiar neighborhood, though I hadn’t
been through the area since last August, when I’d first arrived inChicago .
Nothing seemed to have changed, it was only colder and more empty than before.
The cheap hotels and pawnshops gave way to long blocks of warehouses and
inadequate lighting. The drive was half an hour of total silence. The last leg
of it took us along a narrow street running between two huge warehouses built
out over the river. We stopped at a side door.
Hodge was out first to cover things. Rimik signed for me to move.
“What’s this about?” I asked, because it was time I showed some curiosity. I
was also genuinely uneasy.
“Later,” said Hodge.
The driver was ahead of us and opened the narrow door into the warehouse,
then hit the lights. The place was still gloomy.
It was full of crates of all kinds and the sharp odor of new wood, excelsior,
and machine oil. It looked naggingly familiar. The stenciled labels on the
crates identified their contents as machine parts. That tripped the final
switch in my memory. I fought down an involuntary shudder that had nothing to
do with the winter air.
Hodge sat on a crate, Rimik stood and stared at me, and the driver went to
the office I knew to be out front. He returned several minutes later, nodded
once at Hodge, then leaned against the far wall and fired up a cigarette.
I looked at Hodge. “It’s later. What’s this about?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“I’ll find out now, or I’m walking.”
“You can try, kid.”
From out of nowhere, Rimik had produced a big bowie knife and polished it
with a soft cloth. He was still staring at me.
“You take me out with that,” I said, “and your boss might not like it.”
“You’d like it even less, Escott,” said Hodge.
That shut me up.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 67
Their mistake was a natural one. While I’d been talking with Bobbi they’d
searched the Nash and found its registration and Escott’s name.
“Take off the coat,” he told me after a moment.
“It’s cold,” I reminded him.
“We’ll give it back.”
Rimik put the knife within easy reach—his reach—and came forward. His action
distracted me, so I hadn’t noticed Hodge pulling out a forty-five automatic.
These boys were moving as smooth as oil and I didn’t like the kind of teamwork
that that implied.
He leveled the gun at my gut. “Take off the coat.”
I took it off. There was no sense in forcing them to put holes in it or the
suit. A shoot-out might force me to do other things as well. I knew what they
wanted and stood by for yet another frisk. Rimik found Doreen’s gun right off.
“Déjá vu,” I said as he put it on the crate next to the knife.
“What?” asked Hodge.
“Nothing. Just French for ‘here we go again’.”
Rimik didn’t bother searching my wallet or they’d have realized their mistake
about my identity. They were looking for weapons, not enlightenment. He turned
it back over with the other stuff, and I was allowed to put my coat on again.
“Who’s your boss?” I asked.
Hodge answered readily enough. “Vaughn Kyler.”
If he expected a reaction, he drew a complete blank. “What’s he want with
me?”
He carefully stowed the forty-five into its shoulder holster and let the
edges of his coat and overcoat fall back into place. Unbuttoned.
“What does he want?”
He dug into a pocket for a cigarette and lighted it, paying no attention to
my question. The temptation to make him answer was there, but I decided to
wait. I had the time, and chances were his boss would tell me all about it.
Right now they were playing a nerve game, but that only works if you can be
intimidated. I sat on a crate and watched him smoke. Rimik picked up the bowie
knife and slipped it into some kind of a hip sheath. I caught a glimpse of the
gun under his coat as well. He was prepared for all sorts of weather.
Hodge smoked his cigarette down to a butt and tossed it accurately at a
drainage grate in the floor. He looked ready to light another when we all
turned in response to a distant noise from the office out front. The driver
broke away from the wall, went into the office, and returned a moment later to
usher in a new addition to the party.
He walked in without hurry, a medium-sized man in a vicuna overcoat with his
hat pulled low. He paused in the penumbral area between the lights and checked
things over before coming any closer. I had no problems making out his
shadowed features, but he wasn’t trying hard to conceal them. If he were
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 68
really worried, he’d have taken more effective steps.
Every instinctive alarm God ever invented to help us survive the wide world
had gone off inside me. The urge to vanish and whip out the door away from him
was that strong; it was all I could do now to stay solid as he walked over.
His movements were as fluid and controlled as a dancer’s. He had dark blue
eyes and short black brows. His nose was long and fine lines led from it to a
thin, hard mouth. His face was square, with dewlaps just starting to form,
giving the illusion of a mournful look that was, indeed, only an illusion. The
set of his mouth and stony eyes confirmed it. His pale skin was just a little
puffy from soft living; he looked to be edging fifty. He had a fairly ordinary
face, on the surface no different from a hundred others of the same general
type. But there was something… abnormal… about the man behind it that made my
flesh crawl.
My own mug was easy enough to read. What he saw there didn’t bother him.
Maybe he was used to such reactions.
He looked me over good and close, then wandered past to see Hodge. I turned
as he went behind me, wanting to keep him in full view.
“What?” he asked in a low voice.
“Spotted him going into her studio,” said Hodge. “He came out with a
suitcase, then drove to the Stockyards.”
My spine turned to ice. I hadn’t noticed anyone following me.
“He drove to a hotel off theLoopand went in. We got him coming out.”
“Suitcase?”
“We searched it while he was in the hotel. Nothing inside but women’s
clothes. Must be hers.”
“Name?”
“Escott.”
“No,” I said.
They each looked at me as though I had snot on my face. I was to speak only
when spoken to. Well, to hell with that.
“The name they took from the car is wrong. My name is Fleming.” I’d thought
of giving them a phony, but it would be too easy for them to frisk me again.
“Are you Kyler?”
“Yes.” He studied me. “Where’s the woman?”
We both knew whom he was talking about. “I don’t know.”
“Why do you have her suitcase?”
“I’m keeping it safe.”
“When do you expect to see her again?” His voice was low, almost gentle, and
had a slight East Coast accent.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 69
“I don’t know. Why are you after her?”
He ignored that one. “What is she to you?”
“Just a friend.”
“Where is she?” he repeated.
My mouth is dry. “I’d cooperate better if I knew more about what’s going on.”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched out as he focused on me.
It was meant to make me uncomfortable and was working to some extent. If need
be, I could handle him, but he gave me the cold creeps.
“Doreen Grey has something I’m looking for,” he finally stated.
“What’s that?”
“No one’s business but mine.”
“Why should I help you, then?”
“I need information, not help. I will pay for it, if that’s what you want.”
What I wanted was to know exactly why this ordinary-looking man was so
frightening. I tried to read something, anything, about him and could not.
Maybe that was the answer.
“How much?”
He assessed me, my clothes, and other details. “One hundred dollars,” he
offered.
“You must have spent that on the hired help just to bring me here.”
“Two hundred.”
“Save your money. Tell me what you’re after and I might be able to do
something about it.”
Kyler wasn’t used to such treatment. Rimik, who hadn’t said a word since I’d
come in, shifted restlessly, perhaps hoping for orders to start committing
mayhem. Hodge snorted. My nerves were acting up as well. My lips had peeled
back just enough for the teeth to show.
“He thinks he’s hot shit,” observed Hodge. “We oughta show him better
manners.”
“You could try, gunsel.” I didn’t know if he went that way or not. It didn’t
matter, all I wanted was to make him mad and see which way his boss jumped.
Hodge jerked as though I’d touched him with a live wire. He closed the space
between us in one step, his fist up and swinging. I blocked it by raising my
arm then backhanding him, all in one move. He staggered bonelessly into a
crate, bounced, and flopped to the floor. He stopped moving.
Rimik brought his knife out in the first second and swept it past me in a
short arc to get my attention. He centered it with the blade at just the right
angle to gut me like a fish. I held my ground and checked on Kyler out of the
corner of my eye. He just stood there, watching the show, so I probably had a
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 70
few seconds’ grace.
His stooge was feeling playful. He tried an experimental thrust with the
blade to get me to dodge back, only I didn’t. I shot my hand out and caught
Rimik’s wrist, but the man was wise to that one and fast. He yanked his whole
arm down, slipped away, and flicked the blade back up again.
White fire ran along my forearm. Now I did fall back, clutching the part just
below my elbow where he’d neatly sliced things open. A few drops of blood
splashed onto the concrete, the rest soaked into my shredded sleeve.
I wasn’t badly hurt, metal wasn’t as harmful to me as wood, but I had to
pause a moment to keep from vanishing involuntarily to heal. The bleeding
would stop quickly enough without such a complication and the pain would pass;
at least I wasn’t in the part of the warehouse that was over the river or I
might not have had a choice.
What I couldn’t stomach now was the uneven hiss of air between Rimik’s teeth.
He was laughing at me. It got me mad enough that I made another start for him.
The knife flashed like miniature lightning just under my nose. He was still
playing, trying to give me a scar to remember him by. And he was still
laughing.
I lost my temper then, and picked up the first thing that was handy; it
happened to be a crate the size of a small suitcase weighing about forty or
fifty pounds. We were no more than six feet apart and he had no room or time
to duck. The look of gawking surprise that flashed over his face just as the
crate caught him full in the chest was most satisfying.
Two steps and I was standing over him, tearing the crate to one side. My
fingers had just closed over the handle of his bowie knife when I felt
something small and solid bump inarguably against my left temple. It was
followed by a soft double click that I recognized all too well. My grip went
slack; I stopped moving altogether.
“Stand still,” Kyler ordered in his gentle voice.
Chapter Six
I’D OVERLOOKED THE driver simply because he was the driver.
He’d thumbed the hammer back as a subtle warning to me. I wouldn’t get
another. All it needed now was a minimum amount of pressure on the trigger to
go off. While I was very busy not moving, Kyler walked around just enough to
check on Rimik.
“Lucky man,” he said. Rimik was still breathing. “Chaven, take the kid over
there.” He nodded at another stack of crates that were too big to be thrown.
The driver, Chaven, bumped my temple again with the muzzle of his gun. I let
go of the knife and straightened cautiously. He gestured in the direction he
wanted me to go. I stepped away from Rimik’s body and walked toward the
crates. Two steps and I had to stop because the river below our feet was
holding me back. Chaven put a hand in the middle of my back and pushed. It
helped and got me past the point of no return.
“Turn around.” Chaven had a voice like the edge of Rimik’s knife.
I turned and was looking down the short barrel of his gun, noting that he
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 71
favored a revolver over an automatic. Revolvers are simple tools, particularly
the double-action type; there’s no need to remember about the safety or
chambering a bullet or clearing a last-second jam. All you have to do is pull
the trigger and it goes boom… In this case, it could go boom right through my
skull. The shot wouldn’t kill me, but it was an experience that I altogether
preferred to avoid.
Now I knew how far Kyler was willing to go with things. He and his men were
ready to kill, and kill casually for whatever they wanted. I was dealing with
human garbage.
Chaven had a narrow, hatchet-hard face with no more emotion in it than the
gun he held, so I watched his eyes. If he decided to do anything, I’d see it
show up in them first.
“He’s cold,” Chaven commented to his boss.
Kyler hardly glanced up. “Only because he thinks I need him alive.” He came
over to stand next to Chaven and to look at me more closely. “Well, I don’t.”
The cut on my arm stopped burning and began to sting. I let my breath out
slowly and drew another.
“Your last chance,” he said, carefully spacing the words. “Where is the
woman?”
I waited a moment before answering, just so that Kyler knew I’d understood
him. “On the level… I don’t know.”
“Why do you have her suitcase?”
“For safekeeping.”
“Then you expect to see her again?”
“Maybe. I don’t know for certain.”
“I will guarantee her safety. I will even pay her. She, at least, might
appreciate some compensation for her time. She’ll know me. She’ll know I’ll be
fair.”
“But I don’t know you.”
“I’ve already noticed and allowed for that, or you’d be dead by now. You’re
not stupid. Start asking around. You’ll find out all you need about me and how
I work.”
I’d already gotten a pretty clear idea. Chaven still held his gun three
inches away from my nose and his hand was very steady.
“I expect you to find her. When you do, tell her that if she leaves town
before settling her business with me, she will regret it.”
“I’ll let her know.”
“Do that, Fleming.” Kyler’s eyes froze onto mine. It was like standing in
front of the cobra exhibit at a zoo. but without any protective glass in
between. “Do it as though your life depended upon it.”
Kyler returned Doreen’s pistol—without the bullets—and had Chaven drive me to
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 72
Bobbi’s hotel, where the Nash was parked. It was another silent ride. I hugged
my sore arm and bit my tongue to keep from asking him anything. They could
learn a lot about me from the kind of questions I might have, and I didn’t
want any of them getting too curious. My best course was to keep a low
profile; I was to be a messenger boy and nothing more.
Chaven pulled up next to the Nash, braking only long enough for me to get
out. The Caddy glided away out of sight. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief,
made sure the street was empty, and vanished.
It was swift and certain release from my pain. Through trial and a lot of
error, I’d learned that going incorporeal speeded up the healing process. I
floated around for a time and eventually sieved into Escott’s car to
rematerialize and take stock.
The bloodstains were alarming, but a little soap and water would clear them
away. The seven-inch gash was already closed and had reduced itself to a
nasty-looking red scar. It would fade soon enough. Too bad I couldn’t say the
same for my memory. He was out of commission for now, but one of these nights
I planned to pay Rimik back in full, and take my time about it.
I considered going in to see Bobbi for a little cleanup and sympathy, but
quickly decided against it. Kyler had made me paranoid. If his men were able
to trail me from the studio to the Stockyards without getting spotted, they
could still be on the watch. Walking back to the hotel might lead them to
Bobbi, and I wasn’t about to involve her in this mess.
Starting the car, I prowled around the streets. At this time of the morning,
anyone following me would easily stand out. After half an hour of searching
the mirror and seeing nothing, I felt reasonably safe and drove to Escott’s
office near the Stockyards. I parked the car, locked it, and walked away,
going around the block to the next street over. Being reasonably safe isn’t
the same as being certain about it. I stood in a shadow-filled alley until the
cold started to penetrate even my supernatural hide. Only one car came by, an
old cab driven by a middle-aged man who looked both sleepy and bored. Not
Kyler’s style at all.
Vanishing again, I left the alley and felt my way two doors down the block,
slipping inside the third one with heartfelt relief. The first thing I sensed
after going solid was the rich, earthy aroma of tobacco. It was a small shop,
jammed with all the usual paraphernalia needed for a good smoke. Escott owned
a half interest in the place and used it for more than just keeping his
favorite blend on hand.
I went around the small counter and up the narrow stairs. Woodson, the other
owner, used the front section of the second floor for storage and never
bothered with the back. The dust on the floor was undisturbed and I left it
that way, choosing to float over it to get to the rear wall, where Escott had
installed a hidden door. I didn’t bother messing with the catch and just
seeped through, re-forming in the washroom of Escott’s office.
My eyes automatically skipped past the mirror as I walked into the back room,
which was furnished with a few bare necessities. Once in a while his work kept
him late and he wasn’t above camping out here. His neatly made-up army cot was
short on comfort, but adequate for an overnight stay. He also had a suitcase
and a change of clothes on hand for occasional out-of-town trips. I opened the
door to the front room.
Except for the blotter, phone, and ashtray, the top of his desk was clean. He
was an extremely neat man, insisting on order and precision in every detail of
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 73
his life, right down to the exact way his chair was centered into its well
under the desk. I avoided moving it and sat in the other office chair.
I used the phone and tried reaching him at the house but got nothing. I
dialed police headquarters and asked for Lieutenant Blair. He’d gone home
hours ago. When I asked for Escott, they’d never heard of him.
He’d left no messages for me with his answering service. I wasn’t sure if I
should be worried about him or not. I decided not, and gave them a message for
him to check his safe deposit box when he came in. It was what he called the
hidden compartment he’d installed behind the medicine cabinet in his washroom.
Now all I had to do was put something in it for him to find.
He had aCorona and a ream of paper on the top of his file cabinet. I brought
them down and started typing.
It was a few minutes shy of dawn when I finally finished and put everything
away. I tugged at the frame of the medicine cabinet and jammed the pages of my
report into the narrow space there. Escott may have liked things tidy, but I
was tired and in a hurry. I shut the cabinet fast before it could all fall out
again and quickly walked through the wall to the tobacco shop storeroom.
Screened by a load of old crates and other junk was an especially long box
that Escott had constructed for me as an emergency bolt hole. This was the
first time I’d ever felt jumpy enough to want to use it. I slipped through and
materialized inside its cramped confines. Like my cot at home, the bottom was
lined with a quantity of my home earth in a flat oilcloth hag. It was secure,
but far too much like a coffin for much mental comfort. Fortunately, the sun
came up before claustrophobia overcame common sense, and I was asleep for the
day.
There was no sense of waking for me, no coming up through the layers of sleep
into full consciousness. When in contact with my earth, I’m either awake or
not awake. It all depends on the position of the sun. I called my daytime
oblivion sleep because it was a familiar word, not because it was accurate.
Precisely at sunset the next night, my eyes opened, I remembered where I was,
and wasted no time getting out. The box was useful enough, but I preferred
being crammed into one of my steamer trunks.
In the tobacco shop downstairs a door opened and shut—either a late customer
or Woodson himself closing things up for the night. He knew about the hidden
door, but not about my long box or its supply ofCincinnati soil. Escott and I
had figured that, like a lot of people, he’d be much happier not knowing.
No further sound came from below. I walked through to the rear of the office.
On the radio that served as a nightstand was my typed report. In one corner
stood Doreen Grey’s cheap suitcase. Escott was lying on his army cot, a pile
of newspapers within easy reach on the floor and a crumpled afternoon edition
folded over his face. The deep regularity of his breathing told me he was in
dreamland.
I really hated to wake him up. “Charles?”
The paper rattled. He was a light sleeper. He dragged the paper away and sat
up. “Good evening,” he said almost cheerfully. He did a beautiful double take.
“Perhaps I should say good heavens. You look as though you’ve been busy.”
“No need to be nice about it. We both know I look like something the cat
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 74
dragged in. Can I borrow your razor?”
“Please do. Whatever happened to your arm?”
I’d omitted a few details about last night’s activities from the report.
“Kyler’s boys play rough. Think your tailor can fix it?”
“Your arm?” he deadpanned.
“The clothes. My arm’s fine.” I peeled off my overcoat and suit coat. The
blood had dried and all but glued everything to the skin. It looked terrible,
but the damage beneath was almost healed by now. As I scrubbed off in the
sink, I could see that last night’s angry red line was now a long, white welt.
Eventually, even that would disappear, leaving no scar. “Did you get things
straightened out with Lieutenant Blair?”
He added his paper to the stack on the floor and stretched a little. “Yes,
after I’d gotten hold of our employer and informed him of the murder. It gave
him quite a serious turn but he came down to headquarters himself to see to
things. Mr. Pierce is a formidable fighter. I was very glad that he was on my
side. He managed to keep me free from any legal difficulties.”
That was a relief; I’d been afraid that Blair would have his license yanked
for wanting to protect his client for a couple of hours. “I tried calling you.
They have you down there all night?”
“No, it was Mr. Pierce who kept me so occupied. He insisted on buying me a
late dinner to compensate a bit for the trouble I’d been to on his behalf, and
then we got to talking.”
“What was he doing while McAlister was getting murdered?”
His sharp gray eyes glinted with approval. “He maintains he was at the
Stumble Inn for several hours, conversing with Des the bartender and cleaning
out his stock of sarsaparilla. Pierce was terribly shocked at the news about
McAlister, doubly so that the murder had taken place at Kitty Donovan’s flat.”
“The cops find her yet?”
He shook his head.
“What’s Pierce think of her as a suspect?”
“He was partly incoherent, partly obscene, but wholly against the idea.”
“What about Marian Pierce?”
“She was in the company of Harry Summers, who was trying to patch up a
quarrel they’d had over you.”
“Oh, brother.”
“It seems you made quite an impression on both of them.”
“That goes double for me.”
“Which reminds me… Pierce went ahead and let his daughter know what is going
on.”
“I’ll bet she was thrilled that I wasn’t really following her like she
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 75
thought.”
“One wonders what activities she engages in to inspire such secretiveness.”
“Smoking, drinking, and necking—those are the ones I witnessed, at least. I
think she’s just shy about having her daddy hear about them. He could take
away her car keys. Have you heard from Doreen?”
“Not a word.” “Shit.”
“But after such a harrowing evening, one can hardly blame her for wishing to
keep out of sight.”
“From Leadfoot Sam, you mean. She doesn’t even know about Vaughn Kyler. If
she leaves town before I can talk to her…”
“Indeed,” he agreed. “I’ve made calls to one or two contacts I have. Since
last night it has become common knowledge in Miss Grey’s… ah… social set that
he’s looking for her. I daresay she’ll discover that for herself soon enough.
The police are also trying to locate her.”
“Wonderful, just what she needs. How’d they get on to her?”
“ I learned that they made another visit to the Boswell House and noticed the
hole in the wall between the rooms.”
After removing the mirror, I hadn’t replaced it. They must have practically
tripped over the mess. “What about her studio?”
“They searched it but discovered nothing of value, nor any clue to her
whereabouts.”
“But I left a note there with the office phone number on it.”
He tapped the typed sheets on the radio. “So you said, but the police either
ignored it, which is quite unlikely, or she got there before them and took it
away.”
“Or Kyler’s men found it. They probably have the place staked out.”
“And this one as well, if they troubled to trace the number down. You said
they got my name from the car registration; I’m sure Kyler knows all about me
and my little business by now.”
I started to apologize or say something like an apology, but he cut it off.
“It’s part of the job,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. I’d
forgotten that he enjoyed this kind of work. “I applaud your caution, but by
now it may be superfluous.”
“What do you know about Kyler?” I took it for granted that Escott would have
some knowledge of the man, and I wasn’t disappointed.
“Vaughn Kyler, as you correctly deduced in your report, has taken control of
the gang formerly headed by Frank Paco. Kyler is not his real name and I’ve
not been able to find it out. He is well educated, thought to be intelligent,
and in less than six months has doubled the earnings off the rackets
previously directed by Paco. We may reasonably conclude from this that he is
ambitious and perhaps not a little greedy.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 76
“The guy’s a snake,” I grumbled over the running water.
“He also knows how to efficiently deal with any rivals. His chief competitors
for his position, Willy Domax and Doolie Sanderson, have been missing since
last August, along with half a dozen of their lieutenants. No one seems to be
too anxious to speculate on their whereabouts, either.”
“What about Frank Paco?”
“He’s still in the sanitarium. Apparently he is not considered to be much of
a threat.”
I could believe that. The last time I’d seen my murderer, he’d been drooling
like a baby.
“Despite this, Kyler has a high reputation in the criminal community. People
may not like to deal with him, but by their standards he is fair. If he has
promised safety and monetary compensation to Miss Grey, I have no doubt that
she will get it.”
“Yeah, that and what else?”
Escott shrugged. “Now as forwhyKyler wants to speak with her…”
“I figure it’s either some photos she took or has to do with that damned
bracelet.”
“Probably the latter. It’s the only obvious thing of value in—I take it that
she didn’t have it?”
“Not that I know of.” I concentrated very hard on scraping away soap and
bristles.
“Not that you—did you not ask her?”
“She mostly talked about McAlister.”
“And you never thought to ask about the bracelet?”
“I had other things on my mind.”
He looked at me as though I’d dropped out of the sky from another planet. He
almost said something, stopped himself, and was silent during the rest of the
time it took to finish my shave.
Inside me, memory twisted like a sword in my gut. Part of me wanted to talk,
badly needed to talk, but a much larger part wouldn’t allow it. I rinsed and
toweled off. Only inches away from me, the mirror reflected an empty washroom.
The sword twisted a little deeper.
“What is it?” He could sense that something was wrong.
“Nothing,” I lied, staring straight ahead.
Escott loaned me one of his spare shirts from the tiny closet and a suit coat
that didn’t quite match my pants, but was free of slashes and bloodstains.
There wasn’t much I could do about my damaged overcoat; going without one in
the middle of aChicago winter was more conspicuous than wearing it as is. I’d
just have to bluff through any questions.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 77
Not that I was planning on leaving the office. I wanted to stick close to the
phone in case Doreen should try calling. She might have had to hole up for the
day herself, and I was hoping she’d feel safer now that it was dark.
Escott left to get something to eat; I filled in the time by reading what his
paper had to say about McAlister’s murder. The reporter had done a fair job;
most of the facts were straight, and the names spelled correctly. Mine had
been excluded, which was a relief. It was an odd feeling, too, considering my
days on the paper inNew York , when I’d once fought tooth and nail for a
byline.
Blair had issued a standard statement that his men were looking for a
suspect, but he remained cagey concerning that person’s identity. Miss Kitty
Donovan, the tenant of the flat in which McAlister’s body was found, was
unavailable for comment.
I folded that section of the paper and tossed it onto the rest of the pile.
They were full of the usual insanity. Some big brain was recommending that
people start using the wordsyphilisin guessing games and spelling bees as a
way of breaking down the taboos concerning venereal diseases. He had an idea
that if people started putting it into crossword puzzles it would cease to be
so shocking. In theory, it sounded like a good idea, but I had at least two
maiden aunts who would have swooned in their high-button shoes at the idea.
Once recovered, I was sure they’d have hunted the guy down and shot him on
sight.
The other papers I left unread; I wasn’t in the mood to bone up on the screwy
workings of the rest of the world. My own little corner of it was more than
enough to keep me unpleasantly occupied.
The blank white walls of the office offered no distractions. Escott liked
them plain and for just that reason: so he could think. I stared at them and
purposely cleared my mind of everything but white paint.
It worked for nearly a whole minute and then I was lost in the problem of
whether or not to talk to Bobbi. I rarely mentioned my feedings at the
Stockyards, no more than anyone would normally talk about how they brush their
teeth. How I had used Doreen was on the same level—that’s what I was trying to
tell myself, anyway. I was desperate for some grain of comfort, for any excuse
that would let me off the hook. Nothing worked, though. I’d lost control and
that was it.
No excuses.
So I put off thinking about Bobbi. I wouldn’t be able to decide what to do
until after I saw Doreen again, which could be never. The phone wasn’t…
Wrong. The phone just did. Twice, as I stared at it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, lover.”
That damned sword twisted in me again. This was the first time I’d ever felt
uneasy talking to Bobbi. “Hi, yourself.” I sounded artificially cheerful in my
own ears.
“You weren’t at home, so I thought I’d try my luck at Charles’s office.”
“Yeah, I’m holding the fort while he puts on the feed bag.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 78
“When you didn’t come back last night I got a ride home with Gloria.”
“Yeah, sorry. Things got busy.”
“Did you catch up with that guy?” Bobbi hadn’t seen the papers yet.
I ran a nervous hand over the dark wood of Escott’s desk. “Yeah, Charles and
I found him.”
“What happened?” Her tone turned serious. She’d picked up something from my
own.
“Someone got to him first. Killed him.”
“Oh, Jack…”
She listened and eventually some of the story came out. I needed to talk, but
even then it was only a sketchy account, especially the business with Doreen
Grey. Mostly I spoke of McAlister’s death, which had bothered me more than I’d
realized.
He was a nobody, a vain and disgusting little blackmailer, but his death was
hardly a good ending for even his sort. Any pity I felt stemmed from the fact
that I, too, had been murdered. It gave me a unique, if personally horrifying,
insight into things.
“What about Charles?” she asked. “Is he square with the cups?”
“He seems to think so. He knows how to take care of himself and he’s got a
sharp lawyer. He only wanted to wait until he could talk with Pierce first, to
let him know the investigation’s changed from theft to murder.”
“And you don’t think the girl did it?”
I shrugged, which she couldn’t see. “She didn’t do herself any favors running
out like that.”
“On the other hand, she doesn’t know you or Charles. She must have been too
scared to think.”
“She handled herself pretty well at the hotel.” “Yeah, but seeing her
boyfriend like that…” Bobbi got quiet, retreating into her own memories. I
knew they weren’t pleasant ones. I instantly forgot my troubles.
“God. I wish I could be there to hold you,” I said.
“I know.”
We didn’t say anything, but then talk would have been superfluous. I waited
her out, eyes shut, listening.
After a long time, she heaved a sigh as though to clear her mind of the dust.
“Maybe you can make it up to me later. Will you be coming by tonight?”
“If I can, baby. But if I’m not at the club by a quarter till closing, then
you’d better hitch another ride.”
“In other words, I’ll expect you when I see you.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 79
“ ‘Fraid so.”
“Okay. If you can put up with my hours, I can handle yours.”
“Fair enough.”
I’d almost sounded normal toward the end, but after the last good-bye, the
restless worry flowed back like a cold tide against my heart.
When Escott returned I was hunched over his radio trying to find something
worth listening to—a futile effort in my present mood. I wound the dial back
to his favorite station and shut the thing off.
Since the phone call, I’d managed to make one decision, and that was to go
looking for Doreen. If I hung around the place much longer, I’d be climbing
his blank white walls and talking to myself in three different voices. I was
about to tell Escott, but he interrupted before I had the chance to draw
breath to speak.
“Get your coat and hat,” he said. “They’ve found Miss Grey. She’s in
hospital.”
He dropped an evening edition onto the cot. It was folded open to a story on
the front page. The headline read, “Shooting Victim in Critical Condition.”
The facts were slim. A woman had been found lying in a drainage ditch of a
city park with three bullet wounds. The police were still trying to identify
her.
“This could be anybody,” I said faintly.
“I called someone I know there and got a description of her. It matches the
one in your report.”
“Oh, Christ.” I stopped wasting time and grabbed my stuff and followed him
down to his car. He couldn’t drive fast enough for me. When we eventually got
to the hospital, I hung in the background, letting him ask the questions at
the front desk, then followed again as he headed off down a corridor.
We were used to working like that by now; he dealt directly with the public
while I stayed out of the way and went unnoticed. It worked until we reached
the surgical ward. We had another desk to pass and no one was allowed through
except family.
Escott started to make explanations to the nurse in charge, but I
interrupted. “Look, I need to see the woman who was shot. I think she might be
my cousin.”
The woman asked questions. Other people had been calling the hospital and
making inquiries about her patient. She wouldn’t say who. I gave her a song
and dance about Doreen not turning up for work today and her general
description. The latter seemed to make a difference. Her expression was grave
as she went off to confer with her supervisor. Both returned with a doctor,
who took us off to one side to hear things all over again. I’d always been a
lousy liar; tonight it seemed to come naturally.
“If she is your cousin, you’ll have to talk to the police,” he told me.
“Fine,” I agreed. Escott’s eyes flickered, but he kept his comments to
himself.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 80
Under the eye of the supervisor and with the help of a large orderly, I was
enveloped in a hospital gown that looked like a sheet with sleeves and given a
cloth mask to cover my nose und mouth. This time, Escott had to stay outside
and wait, but he was turning it into an opportunity. I glanced back before
walking through the doors to the ward and saw him turning on the charm for the
nurse at the desk. She didn’t seem too cooperative, but he could work miracles
with that accent of his.
The mask did not shut out the smell. It was always the same: a kind of
death-sweet stink that I always associated with hospitals. The people who
worked with it and the suffering that engendered it deserved Medals of Honor.
I was taken past a couple of beds loaded with silent human wreckage and shown
a frail figure all but smothered under her bandages. A nurse stood close by,
watching her breathe.
Until this moment, I’d held on to a vague hope that it would not be Doreen.
As it was, I barely recognized her in this sterile setting. Her face was slack
and colorless, the skin spread thinly over the sharp bones beneath. Only her
carrot red hair stood out, a bright incongruity against the harsh steel and
enamel fixtures. I put out a hand to stroke its limp strands.
“Is she your cousin?” asked the doctor.
If I said no I’d have protection from the dangerous curiosity of officialdom.
It was also an easy escape from a responsibility I didn’t want and could ill
afford.
On her neck were the faint marks I’d left. Engulfed as she was with all the
tubes and bandages, they were nothing, barely noticeable.
The doctor repeated his question.
“Yes,” I said, hardly aware that I’d spoken.
He expressed sympathy and told me he needed information.
I anticipated the first question. “Her name is Doreen.”
“Last name?”
“Grey.”
The nurse wrote it on the chart at the foot of the bed without any reaction.
Maybe she’d never heard of the Oscar Wilde book. I gave Escott’s office
address and phone number for a place of residence and made a guess at Doreen’s
age. If I didn’t know an answer I said so. She took down the meager scraps of
fact and then the doctor led me back out to the hall.
Escott looked up. He was leaning comfortably against the desk facing the
nurse and she had a smile on her face. Both sobered and straightened when I
emerged from the ward.
“It’s Doreen,” I told him.
He also said something sympathetic. I didn’t really listen. For the next half
hour, as I ran the gauntlet of answering questions for a lot of people in
uniforms, I didn’t listen to much of anything.
The doctor in charge of her case was named Rosinski. He seemed to know his
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 81
business and was reluctant to make any optimistic promises. From the way his
eyes shifted and how he answered my own questions, I knew he wasn’t holding
out much hope of Doreen pulling through.
“Her lungs were punctured, and one of them collapsed,” he said. “I take it as
a good sign that she survived long enough for us to get her into surgery, but
that’s it as far as it goes. She was very lucky that the bullets didn’t bounce
around her ribs and cause more damage than they did.”
“What kind of bullets?” I asked.
“Very small; twenty-twos. The holes aren’t much, but they’re enough to do the
job. The main problem now is to keep her breathing and hope that pneumonia
doesn’t set in.”
“Was there much blood loss?”
“Her pressure and volume were low when she was brought in—”
“But she’s not harmed from it, is she?”
“No more than one would expect in such a case.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that her blood loss is something we took care of early on. Right now,
she’s got other things to worry about.”
“When will you know anything?”
Rosinski would only shake his head. “We’ll both have to wait and see on that
one.”
Earlier, I’d let Escott know I was willing to run my end of things for the
time being, so he’d gone off to tend some business of his own, giving me room
to work. He must have kept tabs on me, though, since he turned up not long
after the questioning ended.
“This is hardly the place I’d expect to find someone with your particular
condition.” he said in a subdued voice, taking a seat nearby.
“It’s quiet,” I mumbled, staring at the floor.
I’d found refuge in the hospital chapel. The silence of the small room helped
soothe my inner turmoil, and I won’t lie and say that I didn’t use the place
for its intended purpose. Doreen needed all the help she could get; I just
hoped that God hadn’t minded hearing a prayer from the guy who may have helped
to put her life in jeopardy in the first place.
“All the same…” But he didn’t finish whatever he might have said about the
oddity of a vampire being in a kind of church, and shrugged the rest away. He
could see I wasn’t in the mood for it. “I had to call Lieutenant Blair.”
“What’d he have to say?” I wasn’t all that interested, but wanted distraction
from the stuff inside my head.
“Little that may be repeated in these surroundings. He dispatched a man to be
here in case Miss Grey should wake up.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 82
“Yeah, I remember talking to that guy. He may have a long wait.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Just that we were doing private work for Pierce and that we’d also wanted to
question Doreen about McAlister’s death. He took it all down and left it at
that.”
“Was he not curious that you are listed as her next of kin?”
“Yeah, but I told him she really didn’t have anyone else to look after her.
When we talked last night I got the feeling that she really was all alone.”
“Alone,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Obviously not.”
“What’re you thinking?”
“I was only speculating about who might have shot her.”
“Kyler or one of his stooges.”
“Are you so certain?” “Something’s telling you different?”
“The circumstances of her assault.” “What about them?”
“Can you recall what caliber weapons Kyler’s men possessed?”
“Chaven was using a thirty-eight, Hodge had a forty-five.”
“I learned that the bullets taken from Miss Grey were from a twenty-two… an
experienced criminal might prefer a larger caliber.”
“There’re always exceptions. Kyler or Rimik could have been carrying the
right size.”
“True.” He started to dig for his pipe, remembered where he was, and changed
his mind. “But if one is planning to kill a person, a small bullet is a poor
choice for the job.”
“Unless you want to be quiet about it. Back inNew York I filed more than one
murder story on the subject. Put a twenty-two right up next to a person and it
makes less noise than a popping balloon.”
“It was with that in mind that I managed to arrange and make an examination
of the clothes she was wearing.”
I shook my head. Escott could talk a tree out of its sap. “She was shot from
a distance, right?”
“Correct. It’s very possible that the person who shot her was an amateur.”
“Just because it was a small bullet?”
“Because she was not killed outright. Did Kyler strike you as the type who
would plan a murder and then botch the job?”
He had a point there. “Unless he wanted to make it look like the work of an
amateur.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 83
“The major objection I see against that is the fact that she did not simply
disappear as did others before her. That’s his usual pattern.”
“Like Domax and Sanderson?”
“Hmm. A disappearance simply raises questions that may never have answers.
Leaving a body to be found may result in the same situation, but one is at
least certain of the violence involved and may work outward from that point.”
“Okay, if we take Kyler out of things, who’s left?”
“The same person who killed McAlister.”
“I can figure that, Charles, but who?”
He shrugged. “We shan’t discover that sitting around here.”
“And Doreen?”
“We can always call the nurse on duty for any news concerning changes in her
condition.”
“What’re you planning to do?”
“To get out and ask some questions. I suggest we start with Vaughn Kyler.”
I nearly choked. “Great. Might as well start at the bottom and work our way
up. How do we find him?”
“We won’t have to. My researches today were most rewarding…”
“You found out where he hangs his hat?”
“Not quite, but I’ve an idea on where to start. Care to come along?”
“Lead on, Macduff.” Escott winced. “That’s ‘lay on’.”
“Sorry.”
“The misquote doesn’t bother me so much as your choice of play to misquote
from.”
Escott was not even remotely a superstitious man—except when it came to the
theater. His particular quirk had to do withMacbeth, and he never would say
why. I apologized again, respecting the quirk, even if I didn’t understand it.
He shook his shoulders straight and drew in a deep breath. “Ah, well, perhaps
our surroundings will cancel out any malign influences. We can hope so, at
least.”
“Amen to that,” I said, and followed him out.
Not that I was taking his stuff too seriously, but I did insist on a quick
stop back at the office to pick up his bulletproof vest and the
Webley-Fosbery. Just in case. If we got close enough to interview Kyler, he’d
probably be frisked and not allowed to keep it. On the other hand, if Kyler
didn’t want to see us, we would very definitely need some protection. I still
had Doreen’s automatic, but without bullets it wasn’t much more than a weight
dragging in my pocket.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 84
Escott stowed his gun into his shoulder holster. With his suit coat and
overcoat on top, it was invisible, even to experienced eyes. Now I realized
why he favored single-breasted styling; they look okay unbuttoned and he’d
left things that way to be able to get at his gun more easily.
We were all set to go when the low rumble of a motor drew my attention to the
outside. From either end of the front window, we peered through the slats of
the blinds to the street below. A flashy new Packard had parked just in front
of Escott’s Nash.
“It’s Pierce’s car,” I said. “Wonder what he wants?”
He shook his head and watched with interest asGriffin lurched from the
Packard and crossed the sidewalk to our stairwell. For a big man he didn’t
make much noise, even on those creaking boards. The door shook a bit as he
knocked.
Escott let him in and offered a greeting.
“Mr. Pierce extends an urgent request that you come to his house
immediately,” saidGriffin . There was a hint of humor in his eyes. He was very
aware of the artificially formal tone of the invitation.
“Did Mr. Pierce state the reason behind his urgency?”
“I am not at liberty to say, sir, but you may rely on the importance of it.”
Escott looked ready to toss the ball back again. It was entertaining, but I
didn’t feel like standing around all night just to watch. “C’mon, Charles.
We’ll follow in your car and take care of the other business afterward.”
He’d been all wound up to tackle Kyler, so it was tough going for him to have
to switch his intentions so abruptly. His curiosity was up, though, and that
helped. A minute later and we were on the road in the wake of the Packard.
I expected Pierce to have a big place and wasn’t disappointed. The grounds
were well kept but informal enough so that the keeping wasn’t too obvious. His
house was a big brick monster that must have been stacked together by a
piecework crew. It had a couple of turrets with flags, gables, and extensions
out of the main building that looked like additions made by the architect
after he’d sobered up. Ugly as it was, it looked friendly, and there were warm
lights showing in the windows.
Sebastian Pierce emerged from the front door before Escott could set the
brake and signed for me to roll down my window.
“I don’t want the servants to know what’s up,” he said. “We’ll talk in the
guest house around back.” Without waiting for a reply he trotted forward on
his long legs and hastily slipped into the passenger side of the Packard. It
was a very cold night and all he wore over his clothes was a bulky sweater.
Though much smaller than the main house and built of humble wood, the guest
house was enough to do an average family proud. Its two stories were painted a
fresh-looking white with dark trim. The porch light was on and a window shade
upstairs twitched, indicating someone was waiting for us.
Pierce was out and striding up the walk as soon as his car stopped. Escott
and I had caught some of his nervous energy und quickly crowded onto the
porch.Griffin wasn’t moving as fast but managed to arrive just as Pierce
unlocked the door and ushered us into a tiny parlor. An arched opening on our
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 85
left led to a large living room, where he settled us in the fireplace. There
was a good blaze going and Escott peeled off his gloves, gratefully extending
his hands toward it.
“Now where have they got to?” Pierce muttered, glaring at the empty room.
Somewhere upstairs, a toilet flushed. He looked at the ceiling as though he
could see through it and nodded with satisfaction. “Good. Excuse me and I’ll
bring them down. They’re probably having a last-minute attack of nerves.”
He darted from the room, leaving us to look at each other.Griffin ’s face was
bland and not giving anything away. He removed his chauffeur’s hat and asked
if he could take our coats. Escott shrugged out of his and I did the
same.Griffin had just hung them in a closet when Pierce returned with company.
Marian came into the room, looking troubled and sulky, the picture of a kid
who had been caught red-handed at the cookie jar. She wore a dark collegiate
sweater over wide trousers and sturdy walking shoes that had seen some use.
Her sable hair was pulled back and sported a demure black ribbon; all she
needed to complete the effect was a pair of Harold Lloyd glasses. It was quite
a contrast to the sleek, sophisticated girl who’d tried to suck my tonsils out
last night.
“Is she his daughter?” murmured Escott.
“Uh-huh. Guard my back, would you?”
He made a small sound that might have been a laugh.
A second person reluctantly walked in, urged on by Pierce.
“Holy cats,” I whispered. “He’s been holding out on us.”
“Well, well,” said Escott, his tone conveying agreement and delight. “Miss
Donovan, how nice to see you again.”
Kitty Donovan looked up from the section of carpet she’d been staring at. Her
huge eyes went first to Escott, then to me. Her face crumpled, then seemed to
swell from the pressure of all the emotion she was trying to keep in check.
Then she broke down and burst into tears.
Escott quietly and eloquently sighed.
It was shaping into another long night.
Chapter Seven
PIERCE WAS RIGHT next to her and in the best position to offer a shoulder to
cry on, or at least the middle of his chest, which was as high as she came on
him. None of the rest of us leaped forward to take the job so he patted the
back of her head and told her everything was all right and let her soak his
sweater for a while.
Not knowing what else to do, I shoved my hands in my pockets and tried to
look someplace else. The girl wasn’t crying just to cry. The gusting, ugly
sounds that came from her were the raw stuff of honest grief. She was in pain
and there was nothing anyone could do but let her get through it.
Escott gave them a wide berth as he stepped over to whisper something
toGriffin . The big man nodded and left for the back of the house, returning
with a flat bottle and a shot glass. He poured some amber liquid out and
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 86
passed it to Pierce. Though teetotaling himself, he apparently didn’t believe
in enforcing it onto others. He put the glass to Kitty’s lips and got her to
drink. She choked, hiccupped, and settled a little. Her sobs became less
frequent and softer, but she still hung on to Pierce. He steered her toward
the sofa and they sat down together. When she groped in the pocket of her
dress and pulled out a sodden handkerchief, Pierce took it away from her and
replaced it with a dry one of his own.
She blew her nose a few times and said she was sorry.
“It’s all right, honey,” said Marian, echoing her father’s calming
assurances. “You’ve been through the wringer. Nobody minds when a little water
has to come out.”
Kitty responded with something unintelligible and blew her nose again. Marian
relieved Pierce of the shot glass and hadGriffin refill it. Kitty finished her
second drink more quickly and easily than the first, welcoming its deadening
effect.
“Would you gentlemen care for anything?” askedGriffin , lifting the bottle.
Escott declined. He wasn’t exactly a cop, but sometimes considered himself to
be “on duty.” This was one of those times. As ever, I politely shook my head.
“At least some coffee, Griff,” said Pierce. “A nice, big pot and very
strong.”
“Sinkers, too?”
“Yes, if we have them.”
Griffinleft the glass and bottle within Pierce’s reach on a table and I
presently heard him in the kitchen clattering around with things.
Escott sat on the edge of an easy chair opposite the sofa. “I’m very glad you
sent for us, Mr. Pierce. What exactly is it that you require?”
“Some help, of course.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
Pierce gave out with a good-natured snort. “I certainly hope so, or I’ll want
that retainer back.”
The corners of Escott’s mouth briefly curled and he leaned forward, going to
work with a benign expression.
“Good evening, Miss Pierce, Miss Donovan.”
Marian shot him a brief, meaningless smile and went to sit on the sofa next
to Kitty. Kitty nodded and dropped her reddened eyes.
Pierce said, “I’ve convinced Kitty that she needs to talk with the police.
But first I wanted her to tell you what happened so you can find out who did
kill Stan. I’m hoping you’ll be able to get her off the hook.”
“Your confidence in me is most flattering, but I can make no promises.”
“If you tried to at this point, you’d be going out the door right now.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 87
“Fair enough. Miss Donovan, would you please tell us all that you did last
night?” I was slow in coming. The girl was obviously uncomfortable with
everyone looking at her. Pierce nodded encouragement and once in a while
Marian patted her friend’s hand.
“Stan and I had a date,” she said in a flat, lifeless voice. “I was waiting
for him at the Angel Grill. I was there extra early—”
“Why was that?” asked Escott.
“I had some displays to arrange at a department store and finished them
sooner than I’d expected. I didn’t feel like going home just to go right out
again, which was all I would have had time for, so I went straight to the
Angel. While I was there one of his friends came over, a guy named Shorty.”
“Has he another name to go with that one?” “Shorty was all Stan ever called
him.”
“Describe him.” “Well… he’s short,” she said unhelpfully.
I envied Escott’s patience. He tried another tack. “What sort of clothes
doeshewear?”
She was on firmer ground here. “Cheap and awful. They’re good enough for him
to get by, but he doesn’t clean them. He had egg stains on his coat, and he
smokes cigars—he just reeked from them.”
By working off of the girl’s emotional reaction to the man, he was able to
get a fairly complete description. One detail led to the next. He produced a
notebook and took it all down, then asked, “What did he want, Miss Donovan?”
“He was trying to tell me that Leadfoot Sam was looking for Stan.”
“Trying?”
“He didn’t just come out and say it, he kind of talked around it, hinting. I
put him off and tried to ignore him, but he kept hanging around as though he
wanted something, and kepthinting. I finally got the idea that Stan was in
trouble and that I’d better let him know so he could avoid it. Stan wasn’t due
for another thirty minutes and Shorty had scared me. He said that Leadfoot
knew where Stan lived and might be waiting for him there. I couldn’t just sit
around after hearing all that, so I left.”
“For the Boswell House?”
“Uh-huh. That’s when I ran into the two of you.”
He smiled to let her know all was forgiven. “Now, tell me exactly what
happened after you left the hotel.”
“I went straight home. I thought Stan might go there, too. When I saw his car
on the street out front, I knew I’d guessed right, and went inside.”
“Was your door locked?”
“Yes. I unlocked it, went inside, and locked it behind me.”
“You were still nervous?”
“I was still scared.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 88
He nodded, not blaming her for that. “Did Mr. McAlister have a key to your
door?”
She didn’t blush and said yes in an even tone.
“Is that the only way one can get into the building?”
“I think so.”
“No unlocked back doors?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask the manager.”
“Very well. What did you do after you were inside?”
“I called for him, but he didn’t answer. I thought he might be in the
bathroom, but he wasn’t. I checked all over and then I went into the kitchen.
I don’t remember much after walking in. I know I saw him, but that’s all. I
know I saw him, but I don’t remember seeing him.”
“You were in shock, honey,” said Marian, squeezing her hand. “Don’t let it
worry you. You’re better off not remembering.”
“But itfeelsstrange.”
Escott continued. “What is the next thing that you can recall?”
“Waking up in my room. I heard two men talking down the hall—you two. I was
scared. I thought maybe you’d done it. All I wanted was to get out, so I took
the fire escape and ran and ran. I just couldn’t stand it. I had to run.”
“That’s where I come in,” said Marian. “She drove over here to see me, but I
hadn’t gotten home yet.”
“Then Miss Donovan talked to one of the servants?”
Kitty shook her head, probably more than she needed to, but the drinks were
working on her now. “I didn’t dare. I took the back road in to the estate and
put my car in the guest house garage. Then I came in here and tried to call
Marian on the phone.”
“How did you get in?”
“I checked under the doormat for a key and got lucky.”
“What did you do when you could not reach Miss Pierce on the phone?”
“Nothing. That is, I couldn’t do anything. I had to sit in the dark or
someone from the main house might look out and see the lights. It was cold. I
couldn’t build a fire because of the smoke, and I was afraid to change the
furnace setting. It’s only high enough to keep the water pipes from freezing.
But I turned on the electric stove in the kitchen and left its door open and
that helped. Then I found some blankets and wrapped up.”
Escott looked sympathetic. “So you stayed here until you could reach Miss
Pierce?”
“All night.”
“It must have been most uncomfortable.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 89
“I don’t remember much of that, either. I had a little brandy and it went
right to my head. I just fell asleep at the kitchen table.”
Considering the emotional strain and the fact that she’d missed dinner, it
was no surprise, but I could almost see the sneer on the prosecutor’s face if
she brought that story to court. Real damsels in distress were few and far
between, even if they looked the part as Kitty did.
Griffinreturned just then with a tray full of cups, milk, sugar, und the
long-awaited coffee. A plate stacked with donuts was on one side of it and on
the other was a smaller plate with a neatly made up sandwich. He put it all
down on the coffee table and handed the sandwich plate directly to Kitty. She
accepted it with some confusion.
“Eat,” he ordered in a stern voice. Wide-eyed because he was nothing if not
impressive, the girl picked it up and took a bite. A second later she
remembered to chew and swallow. Once the process was started, she had no
trouble finishing.
The food almost turned it into a social occasion, and Escott had to wait as
cups were filled and donuts were passed. I declined offers of both and hung
back by the fireplace. My hands felt cold. They shouldn’t have, since I was
fairly indifferent to anything but the most extreme temperatures now. Maybe it
had to do with the question I would have to ask her. It wasn’t so much the
question, but the method I’d need to use to get my answer.
“Not hungry?” Marian came to stand next to me, a coffee cup in one hand.
“I had dinner just beforeGriffin came for us.”
She looked me over. “I’ll bet you’re one of those men who eats like a horse
and never shows it.”
“Maybe I am.” I was uneasy with the conversation. She seemed the type to
insist I have something and take a refusal as an insult. A subject change was
in order. “I understand you and Harry Summers made up.”
Her eyes were still fastened on me. Their pure blue color was just as lovely,
but harder and colder, like a mountain lake with ice in it. It had probably
been a bad move to remind her about last night. “Yes, Harry and I are all
lovey-dovey again.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
A hostile line appeared in the set of her mouth, then softened. “So’s Harry.
It was all his idea, after all.”
“He said he was crazy about you.”
“I know that. He only tells me so a hundred times a day.”
“You could do worse.”
“Like with you?” She smiled. It wasn’t an especially nice one.
“Like with Stan McAlister.”
She blinked, as though I’d smacked her on the nose.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 90
“What did you tell him at the club?”
“Tell him? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. You were seen sitting at the same table and talking. He got up
and left, then you did the same. What did you say?”
She blushed. Under her carefully applied face powder, it looked muddy rather
than becoming. “Damn Daddy, anyway,” she whispered, her teeth exactly on edge.
“Never mind that. What did you say?”
She put down her coffee cup because her hands were shaking. She was plenty
mad. “All I did was say that I met you and that I thought Daddy had hired you
to follow me.”
“Why would that make Stan bolt the place?”
“It didn’t. He asked me a lot of questions about the talk you and I had, and
then he said that you weren’t after me. but after him. That’s when he left.
I’d wondered why at the time, but now I know he was afraid because of the
bracelet he’d stolen. He must have realized the theft had been noticed and
that you were there to find him.”
“Why would he talk to you, then?”
She looked puzzled. “Why not?”
“Since he stole the bracelet from you, I should think you’d be the last
person he’d want to see.”
“Not if he was trying to play innocent about it all. Stan only had to lie,
you know. I’m sure he was good at it. He’d be able to stand up to me or even
Daddy, but it must have all fallen apart for him the moment he thought someone
was actually after him.”
“Yeah, I guess it must. Did he say where he was going in such a big hurry?”
“No, but he had to have gone straight to his hotel. Kitty said that you and
your partner scared him off.”
“With some help from Kitty.”
“Don’t be so hard on her, she really loved him. She was expecting to marry
him.”
Oh, good Lord. “With your bracelet as a wedding present?”
She started to blurt out some kind of a retort and caught herself before any
sound came out. She looked over at Kitty, a sick expression on her face. “Oh,
my God, you can’t mean it.”
“I gotta look at things the way the cops would.”
“But Kitty wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“Like what? Theft or murder?”
“Either one.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 91
“Maybe you could be a character witness, but you’d better work on your
delivery. Right now, it’s not too convincing.”
“You—” She bit the word off but I had a good idea about what she’d wanted to
say. I’d been called worse. Name calling wouldn’t have eased things for her;
what she really wanted to do was to knock my block off.
“Who do you think did it?” I asked.
“Leadfoot Sam,” she spat. “Whoever he is. Kitty knows a little bit about him.
Not much, but enough to be scared.”
“And if he didn’t?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, perhaps some one of Stan’s other friends. He must
have had others. Why don’t you find that man Kitty told you about—Shorty—and
ask him?”
“What about you?”
“I wouldn’t know where to look.”
“I mean did you do it?”
A soft laugh puffed from her. “Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I was with
Harry.”
“Then both of you were in on it, or maybe you talked him into covering for
you. Or you’re covering for him.”
“Is that the best you can do? Why would either of us want to kill poor Stan?”
“I learned enough about ‘poor Stan’ last night to know that a lot of people
might have wanted to kill him.”
“Then go talk to them; I’m not part of that crowd.” She swept back to the
sofa to sit next to Kitty again. She glanced once at me with obvious distaste,
then turned her attention to the others. Maybe she was hoping I’d just
disappear as I had in the parking lot.
The short break had given her drinks time to really circulate into Kitty’s
system. She was a lot more relaxed when Escott resumed his questioning.
“Once you were able to get hold of Miss Pierce, what did you say to her?” he
asked.
“I told her I was in a jam and to come see me here.”
“Presumably without being seen to do it.”
The girl nodded. “And then she got here and I told her everything that had
happened… what I could remember of it.”
“What time did this interview take place?”
“Sometime this morning,” answered Marian. “Around ten or so.”
“And when did you decide to mention it to your father?”
Pierce glowered at them. “They didn’t.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 92
“How did you find out?”
“My study window overlooks this whole area. When I saw Marian tiptoeing
around in her own yard I had a feeling something was going on and came down to
find out why.”
“Which you did,” said Marian, smiling as though chagrined at being caught.
But her smile was a tight one and didn’t reach her eyes. She clearly resented
his checking up on her.
“Which I did,” repeated Pierce. “And a good thing, too. These two innocents
had some crackpot plan to hide Kitty out here until the fuss had died down,
and then take off forMexico . Lord knows what would have happened to them…
White slavers or worse.”
Marian restrained herself and did not roll her eyes.
“Then you sent for me rather than inform the authorities,” Escott concluded.
Pierce was scowling, but not too seriously. “I needed time to hear her side
of things and figure out what to do next. I talked with my lawyer, but he’s
not a specialist in criminal law. Right this minute he’s doing what he can to
find someone who can help us.”
“Once he does and after he’s had a chance to talk to Miss Donovan as well, I
think you should take her in as quickly as possible to make a statement. It
might look better for her.”
“It might look better, but would itbebetter?”
“To be honest, I don’t know. Legally, you are required to do as I’ve
suggested. There is a warrant out on Miss Donovan, and the longer you delay,
the worse it can get. You and your daughter could end up facing charges for
harboring a fugitive.”
Pierce erupted from the sofa. The living room was really too small for him to
decently pace off his anger. He vented some of it verbally, his colorful abuse
aimed at the law in general and the criminal court system in particular. “I’ve
half a mind to go along with your plan and put you on the next train out of
town,” he concluded, looking at Kitty.
“Then they would know I was guilty,” she murmured. She was almost in tears
again from his outburst and was shaking from the effort to keep them in.
Marian was stone-faced bored. Perhaps she was well used to her father’s
tempers.
“Of course you’re not guilty.” He started to add something, then realized
what shape the girl was in and put a lid on it. “I just want to do what’s best
for you. It’s about time someone did.”
If Kitty failed to notice what he said and how he said it, Marian did not.
She was as stone-faced as ever, but her big eyes narrowed slightly.
“Miss Donovan?” I was adopting Escott’s formal manner. It seemed right for
the question I had to ask.
She looked up at me, glad for a distraction.
“Just to set the record straight for us, did you kill Stan?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 93
Pierce started to erupt again, this time his anger directed toward me, but
Escott stopped him. Escott knew what I was doing and knew that I had to be
careful not to let it be noticed. It wasn’t hard, since everyone was looking
at Kitty, waiting to hear what she said.
She didn’t answer right away. I repeated my question, holding her eyes. When
she did answer, it was with a negative. It even came out sounding normal—or as
normal as a person could sound, given the circumstances.
I continued to concentrate on her. I wasn’t seducing her, she wasn’t seducing
me. This was simple influencing to get at the truth. I had to remember that to
keep myself steady, to stay in control.
“Do you have any idea who might have done it?”
“Leadfoot Sam,” she said without hesitation.
I let up on the light pressure I exerted. The girl was unharmed and nothing
else had happened. Memory and conscience still writhed inside like bloated
worms, but I could ignore them for now.
“Why do you think that, Miss Donovan?” Escott asked, picking up the slack
before anyone knew it was there.
She displayed no awareness of my mental tampering. “Because of what Shorty
told me. But I don’t know why or how it could have happened at my place.”
I had an idea or two, but kept shut about them.
“Have you been here all day?” he continued.
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, except when Marian was here.”
“When was that?”
“This morning… after ten, wasn’t it?”
Marian confirmed the time.
He shifted his attention to her. “How long did you stay here, Miss Pierce?”
“An hour or so, maybe a little longer.”
“What did you do after you left?”
“I went back to the main house and tried to pretend nothing was wrong.”
“Did you visit Miss Donovan at all throughout the day?”
“No, I couldn’t do that or it might have looked funny.” She broke off as her
father nodded agreement, then resumed. “So I called her a few times to check
on her, to see if she was all right. I’d let it ring once, then dial again so
she’d know it was me.”
“And she was there each time?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 94
“Yes, of course.”
“And what times did you call?”
Marian shrugged. “I don’t know, after twelve and again at two and three.”
“You were at home when you made these calls?”
“No, not for all of them. I went out shopping.”
“Shopping?”
“Kitty didn’t have any extra clothes or even a toothbrush. I couldn’t loan
her any of my clothes since they don’t fit her, so I went to get her a few
things and some groceries.”
“When did you do this?”
“At about one. I left after lunch.”
“And returned?”
“Around four, I think.”
“Is that not a long time to be shopping?”
“You don’t know my daughter, Mr. Escott,” said Pierce. “A three-hour trip
means she’s only just started. Why are you so interested in the time?”
Escott held silent a moment. I found myself holding my breath, even though I
don’t usually breathe. “There’s been a shooting,” he finally said. “It may
quite well be connected to McAlister’s death.”
A little ripple of surprise went through them and the usual questions came
out. Not all of them were answered. Escott kept shut about who was shot and
where she was now. He only said that the person was a friend of McAlister’s
and left it at that, which left them all highly dissatisfied.
“The police are still investigating. I cannot give out any more information
than that.”
“But how is it related to Stan’s death?” asked Pierce.
“I’m not certain at this point, though considering the facts we have, one may
come to a logical conclusion. The more immediate problem for us is that Miss
Donovan does not have an alibi for the time of the shooting.”
“What time was that?”
“The police think it happened between three-thirty and four, when the victim
was discovered.”
“Where did it happen?”
“At a city park less than a mile from this very house.”
“Oh, good God.”
“But I washere,” said Kitty.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 95
“Have youproof?” he shot back.
The girl went white around the lips and shrank back into the couch.
“Miss Donovan need not have even used her car; it’s but a twenty-minute walk
both ways…”
Kitty made a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper.
“Shut up, Escott,” Pierce snapped.
Escott ignored him. “Have you an alibi for the time, Mr. Pierce?”
Pierce opened his mouth to say something and left it hanging that way as the
implications sank in.
“Does Mr. Griffin have an alibi, or your daughter?”
“Me?” Marian’s eyes went wide and she groped for her father’s hand.Griffin ’s
brow puckered.
Pierce shut his mouth, shaking his head. “All right, I see what you’re
getting at, not that I like it very much.”
“Neither do I,” said Marian. “Why are you talking to us? Shouldn’t you be
checking on this Leadfoot Sam or Shorty?”
“I expect I shall be doing just that after I’ve finished with things here.
Miss Donovan, do you still have the gun that was in your possession last
night?”
Kitty looked blank. “Gun?”
“Remember in the hotel lobby?” I prodded. “Or was that a dime-store toy?”
The memory reluctantly returned. “I guess it’s still in my purse.”
“Where’s your purse?”
“Upstairs, in the first bedroom.”
Pierce volunteered to go get it, but Escott said no and sent me. The stairs
were just off the parlor and went straight up without any turns. The first
door next to the landing stood open and the room beyond looked occupied. The
bed had been made up, but the covers were all wrinkled, and feminine clothing
lay scattered around. The wastebasket was overflowing with tissue wrap and a
stack of empty boxes stood next to the dresser, evidence of Marian’s shopping
jaunt.
On the dresser was Kitty’s purse. Inside the purse was her little automatic.
It was the one I remembered from last night and it was a .22.
I filched a handkerchief to pick it up and sniffed the barrel. It hadn’t been
fired. She could have cleaned it, but there was no evidence of fresh gun oil.
I searched the room and could find no cleaning kit, but something like that
could be anywhere in the house or out in the garage with her car. Kitty hadn’t
killed McAlister, and though I couldn’t see her gunning down Doreen, either,
my vision might not count for much. I could be nearsighted.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 96
I came back down to a silent room. None of them seemed too happy when I
exhibited the gun in its cloth nest. Escott took a close look without touching
it and sniffed the barrel as well, then dismissed it.
“Are there other guns in this house or the main house?”
Pierce nodded. “I’ve a couple of hunting rifles and a Luger.” “What caliber
are the rifles?”
“They’re both .30-30s.”
“You should be safe enough, then, though I would advise you bring them to the
attention of your lawyer when the time comes.”
“This person who was shot… is he dead?”
Escott went quite still, studying each in turn. I hoped that he was reading
more from them thanI. “Yes, I’m sorry to say.” “Damn it. How does this tie in
with McAlister?” “The bracelet.”
“Always that goddamned bracelet,” he rumbled. He came to attention as a new
thought hit him. “Did he have the bracelet? Was it… ?”
“The bracelet was not on the body.” Escott bent his eye on Kitty again. “Miss
Donovan, were you aware that McAlister might have stolen Miss Pierce’s
bracelet?”
“Not until Mr. Pierce told me about it tonight. I feel terrible that I was
the one to bring Stan into the house.”
“Do you believe he stole it?”
She faltered. “Well, that’s what Mr. Pierce said…” She looked at him for
support and got it.
“Of course he stole it,” he told her. “But there’s no need to worry about
that. It’s over and done with. Whoever killed him probably got the bracelet,
and I could care less.”
“Do you, indeed?” queried Escott.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I cannot say, but may be able to tell you presently. What’s needed now is to
tell the police your side of things and make them believe it, something that’s
best done with experienced legal help.”
Pierce took the hint with a heavy sigh. “All right. I’ll phone and see if the
old shyster’s turned up a likely candidate.”
He did some dialing, located his lawyer, and broke into a smile at the news
he got. Arrangements were made for a meeting. Kitty would have to repeat her
story, first to the new lawyer, and then to the police. I hoped that she had
the stamina to last through the process. She had a long night ahead.
Escott was asked to come along, but declined. “Your lawyer is your best help
there,” he said. “Besides, you want the real criminal brought in, and I cannot
work on the problem from the police station.”
I also suspected he wanted to keep some distance between himself and
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 97
Lieutenant Blair for the time being. Pierce accepted the point as it was given
and didn’t press things.
After we got our coats, Pierce excused himself and walked us out to the car.
“You don’t really think that little girl did anything?” he asked Escott. Away
from the others, his confident front wavered; his own private fears were more
noticeable, now.
“No,” he replied, “But I do believe she has been used and used wretchedly.
Finding proof of it is quite another thing, though.”
“Is that what you’re going after?”
“I hope so.” Escott got into the driver’s side, started the motor and got us
moving. It was at a snail’s pace. His driving sometimes reflected his
preoccupation with a problem: the busier his mind, the slower he drove.
“Good move back there,” I said. “Were you hoping to find out something by
making them think Doreen was dead?”
“I was, but not with any reasonable expectations. My primary purpose was to
ensure some little safety for Miss Grey by assuring her attacker of her
inability to talk.”
“If he or she was there to hear it.”
“Hmm.”
“That bit about the key to the flat… McAlister didn’t have one on him, did
he?”
“No. His pockets had been turned out. His wallet was gone, and if he had been
carrying his own key, it was also gone, no doubt taken by the murderer. Any
prosecutor will hold that Miss Donovan must have let him in herself. We’ve
only her say-so that McAlister possessed one.”
“Which he probably did, since we know she didn’t do it.”
“It’s a pity we cannot bring Lieutenant Blair into our confidence on that
point…” He caught my look. “Never mind.”
“Leaving Kitty out of it means that Stan let in the killer. He cither
answered the buzzer or met him outside and they walked in together.”
“And in ten minutes or less he is lying dead on the kitchen floor and the
killer gone.”
“Fast worker,” I said.
“Why the kitchen?” he mused.
“It’s loaded with weapons.”
“So are most rooms in a house. Your conclusion implies a degree of
premeditation, and the attack on McAlister looked impulsive to me. It was
cold; perhaps they went there to find something with which to warm
themselves.”
“They get to arguing, McAlister turns his back, gets clubbed with a frying
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 98
pan, and stabbed for good measure to make sure he’s really dead.”
“Something that I have noted is that if a woman is murdered, the violence
frequently occurs in the bedroom, but when a woman herself murders, she
chooses the kitchen as her stage.”
“You’re thinking of Marian Pierce?”
“As a possibility.”
“What’s her motive?”
“Unknown at present. Perhaps later you might talk with her and ascertain if
one exists.”
I didn’t like this turn of the conversation at all. I wasn’t ready to start
explaining to Escott that I had given up hypnotic interviews. I tried for a
change of subject. “You said something about a logical conclusion… Wanna share
it?”
One of his eyebrows bounced. “Yes, well, it has to do with Miss Grey and the
bracelet. I believe she had it all along.”
I winced inside.
“And if she did have it, then perhaps she was shot for it.”
He left unspoken the implication that if I’d bothered to ask an obvious
question last night, she might never have been shot at all.
“It was not in her possession when she was found. One may presume either a
passerby performed a bit of impromptu larceny and escaped, or that the theft
was accomplished by the one who shot her.”
“And you don’t think it was Kyler?”
“I really haven’t enough information one way or another concerning his
complicity to be able to make any kind of a judgment. He is most certainly
involved, but we must determine the degree of his involvement.”
“And maybe get Kitty off the hook?”
“We may hope as much. Her information was not utterly devoid of interest.” He
pulled out a silver cigarette case and juggled with it. The Nash threatened to
cut a fresh road over someone’s yard. I put out a hand to steady the wheel. He
took advantage of the break and quickly drew out a cigarette and put it in his
mouth. If we were at home or at the office, it would have been his less
portable pipe.
“Like the part about Shorty?” I asked.
“Hmm.” He struck a match.
“You think you know him?”
“I believe I know of him, though I’ve never actually met the fellow.”
“Who is he?”
“A dweller on the fringe, I expect.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 99
I briefly wondered if his damned smoking set him off on a tangent or if he
only used it as an excuse to do so. Either way, the effect was the same. “Want
to explain that?”
“You’ve met his type before. They never seem to work, but somehow manage to
get by. They bounce from one unpaid bill to another and are experts at the art
of living off the charity of others.”
“The crash made a lot of guys that way.”
“People like Shorty have always been that way. Their prime concern in life is
usually centered upon their next meal.”
“Or their next drink.”
“There’s that, too, though I believe the addiction to drink is but a symptom,
and not the problem itself. I’ve seen hundreds of them… sad faces, angry
faces, lost faces, and faces with nothing left in them at all. One wonders
where they’ve come from and where they will go and what ruined dreams may lie
behind their empty eyes.”
“That’s what I like about you, Charles… you’re such cheerful company.”
“I’m in a cheerful mood,” he said.
“So are we headed for this fringe to look for Shorty or are you planning to
tackle Kyler?”
“Oh, we shall interview Shorty first.”
“Why? About all he can do is back up Kitty’s story.”
“And perhaps a bit more—if he is what I think he is.”
“Some kind of stoolie?”
“An information salesman,” he conceded, always one to put a polish on things.
“I’m hoping he will give us a line on Kyler—or rather sell us one and thus
save us a bit of time.”
“So what was he doing giving stuff away free to Kitty?”
“I’m not so certain that it was intentional, but perhaps he was hoping his
early warning might have generated some income from a grateful McAlister.”
“How many stoolies have you met who were that dumb?”
He decided not to answer and focused his attention on the road and his
cigarette. It was still fairly early and the amount of traffic reflected the
hour. You’d think they’d all be huddled by their firesides, still gloating
over their Christmas presents. If any. The last eight years had been
starvation lean for too many people, and the realities rarely matched up with
the cozy ideals in the magazine ads. I stared out the passenger window and
watched the neighborhoods change from ritzy to nice, to good, to downright
hostile, and back again. Escott finally slowed and parked the Nash in a
borderland area of good that was starting to lose out to hostile.
Across the street a series of low buildings crowded close to each other, as
if for warmth. On one of them hung a painted sign advertising theAngelBar and
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 100
Grill. One side of the sign was lighted, the other, with its broken bulb,
dark.
Borderland.
“Looks like just the sort of place a guy like Stan would bring his girl,” I
said.
“One way or another, it would be certain to leave an impression.”
A trace of rain hung in the air, just enough to dampen the streets and make
us cautious of our footing as we crossed over and went inside. The place
wasn’t that big, but it was crowded and dim. Escott nodded once at me and went
over to the bar. I peeled away and made a circuit of the room, looking for
anyone who matched Kitty’s description of Shorty.
A lot of unfamiliar faces looked back, reminding me of the ones Escott had
spoken of earlier. I shook off the image and concentrated on the job.
Someone tugged at my coat from behind. “Hey, Jack.”
I turned, mindful of pickpockets, and wondering who could possibly know me
here. No pickpocket this time, just Pony Jones with his curiosity up. Pony did
enough bookie business to keep himself, but not so much that he drew attention
from the big boys. Escott had introduced us some months back when we were
doing some other job. Pony always looked drunk, but never forgot a face or a
name except as a dodge to trouble, then he became as vague as his appearance
suggested.
Sitting next to him was his half-brother, Elmer, sometimes known as Elmtree
Elmer since he was tall and about as tough. He had a brain deep inside that
big body, but was lazy about using it, and usually content to let Pony do his
thinking for him.
“What’ya doin’ here?” asked Pony.
I could almost see all the ears swiveling in our direction. There was space
at their small table, so I slipped into a chair opposite them. “Hi, Pony,
Elmer. How’s business?” As I drew breath to speak, I got a strong whiff of
stale smoke, beer, and sweat.
“Good ‘n’ bad.”
“Looks like the bad’s winning.”
Elmer didn’t react at all, choosing to play dense tonight. Pony’s crab-apple
face only crumpled a bit more. “Don’t be a wise ass. You still working for
that limey bastard?”
“Yeah, he’s here with me.”
Elmer grimaced. He liked Escott about as much as I liked sunbaths.
“Why are you sitting with your back to the door?” I asked.
“ ‘Cause my back can stand the draft better than my front. Who ya lookin’
for?” His dark little eyes were avid. He knew I was off my usual track in
coming to a place like the Angel.
“You wouldn’t know him.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 101
His mouth twisted. “C’mon, Jack, no need to dance around all night. Just say
a name an’ I’ll let you know if I know ’um.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Flat fee, only a sawbuck.”
“Try a buck, Pony.” Over his shoulder, I saw Escott had finished talking with
the bartender. I caught his eye and shook my head once so he wouldn’t
interrupt.
“Aw, c’mon, I got family to support.”
“Fine, go get a regular job.” I made to get up.
“Okay, a buck’s fine, but only if I know ‘em. Cost you more in find out
more.”
That always went without saying. “Guy named Shorty.”
“My sweet Aunt Tilly, you know how many guys I know named Shorty? F’cryin’
out loud, some jerkballs even callmeShorty.”
I gave him my best and broadest grin. Though my canines were neatly
retracted, it was more than effective. He tumbled right away.
“Aww, no. Jack…”
“Aww, yes. Pony.”
Pony shrugged, flashed a yellow grin of his own, and rubbed his thumb against
his fingers. I found a dollar and he made it vanish. He kept his hand out and
tried to look like a hurt puppy.
“I said more will cost you more.”
“This place is too crowded for talk.”
He made a show of resignation. “Okay. We gotta flop close by, but I’d have to
show you.”
I caught Escott’s eye again as I stood up. “Fine with me. Pony. I could use
the exercise.”
“What? Right now? It’s cold out.”
“Yeah, it’ll probably be like that ‘til spring.”
Elmer was looking alert and damped it down when Pony shrugged at him. He’d
accepted his fate and would go quietly. He stood, all five feet one of him a
visible declaration of his least favorite moniker, and made a show of
buttoning up his coat.
We walked to the door, Elmer leading. Pony behind him, and me ready for
either of them to try anything. Escott was there ahead of us and held it open.
Elmer paused to sneer at him and caused a minor bottleneck.
Pony Jones was nothing if not an opportunist. He slithered around Elmer and,
true to his nickname, bolted.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 102
Chapter Eight
GOT MY arm out fast enough, but Pony dodged, and my fingers only brushed his
collar. Without thinking, I went transparent and shot right through Elmer’s
intervening bulk. Maybe he’d attribute his rush of abrupt cold to the winter
air. I only hoped that the Angel’s other patrons would put the alarming vision
of a ghost-man running through him down to morbid imagination and take care of
it at the bar.
Pony was little and had some years against him, but he was on his home
ground. Though only seconds behind him, I almost missed it as he ducked
between buildings. Delayed as he was by having to go around, rather than
through, Elmer, Escott was seconds more behind me. He’d just have to catch up
when he could; I didn’t dare wait.
Pony Jones’s small form threaded out the other end of the alley and cut
right. By the time I did the same he was out of view, but I heard the slap of
his feet against concrete down another turning. When I’d made that one, he’d
doubled back to another dank passage. A moment later his footsteps stopped.
I took note of that: they’d stopped, not faded into the distance. He was
holding his breath somewhere, banking on the darkness to hide him. As far as I
could judge the area was pitch dark—to human eyes.
I picked my way carefully down the alley, my footfalls as soft as I could
make them. No doubt in his own ears Pony’s heartbeat would drown out their
minimal sound. At the far end was a disordered row of trash cans, the tumbled
remains of a discarded armchair, and an unidentifiable bundle of odds and ends
that might once have been clothes.
The bundle was breathing, very quietly, and its heart was racing. I reached
into it, this time getting a good grip on the collar before hauling him up.
“Aww, Jack…” he whined, shedding rags and limp sheets of newspaper.
I got my bearings and found we’d all but circled back to the alley behind the
Angel. Escott popped into sight less than fifty feet away. I called to him. He
skidded to a halt, peering doubtfully in my general direction. It reminded me
just how dark it was for him. I kept my grip on Pony’s collar and marched him
forward. Spill from a distant streetlight defined our figures as we emerged
into view.
“Well, well,” he said, straightening his hat. “Was there any reason behind
your quick exit, Pony?”
Pony dropped into his first line of defense, which was to shuffle with a
bowed head and mumble that he didn’t know nothin’.
“I see. Then you aren’t too terribly interested in increasing this evening’s
profits?”
Scenting more money, Pony raised his head.
Elmer trotted up, puffing. “Leggo a’ Pony,” he told me, expecting instant
obedience.
Escott got in between us. “Hold off your rescue for just another moment,
Elmer, we’re conducting a business deal.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 103
“Huh?”
“Deal?” said Pony at the same time.
“Money for information is the usual pattern, is it not?”
Elmer became surly as he cottoned onto the fact that Pony wouldn’t allow him
to beat up on a potential source of income. “Why’n’cha talk normal, so’s a guy
knows what you’re sayin’?”
“I think we understand each other well enough, Elmer.”
“Limey bastard,” he muttered, echoing Pony’s earlier comment. The last time
Elmer had dealt with Escott, he’d spent a few days in jail. He wasn’t the
forgiving type.
Escott had a smile on his face—a rather serene one at that—when he abruptly
hauled Elmer around by both shoulders and slammed him back first against a
wall. Elmer yelped in surprise, shock, and pain, cramming it all into the same
sound. The impact inspired him to fight back, and he brought a sudden fist up
and threw a gut punch with as much force as he could muster. He missed the
bulletproof vest by an inch, digging in just below the belt.
Escott hissed once through his teeth but kept his grip. He was still smiling
when he bounced Elmer against the wall again. And again, very hard. The third
time he let go, and Elmer slithered to the ground and stopped moving.
He’d startled me, because though I’d seen him angry before, 1’d never seen
Escott lose his temper.
He stared down at Elmer, immobile except for a slight tremor in his hands as
the excess adrenaline wore off. His smile gradually disappeared, easing away
by small degrees until nothing was left but an impassive mask. Considering the
insult, his initial show of teeth was understandable, but the mask I saw now
made me uneasy. “Charles?”
He brought one hand up, fingers spread a little, the gesture a request for
silence. I clamped my mouth shut and waited.
He turned slowly away from Elmer and faced Pony. The mask was still in place.
If I was uneasy, Pony was definitely frightened. Escott plucked Pony away from
me and pushed his back to the same wall, pinning his shoulders to it. Both
glanced down at Elmer’s semiconscious form and then at each other. They
arrived at an obvious conclusion at the same time. Pony gulped unhappily.
“Why did you run?” Escott asked him, his tone dangerously reasonable.
Pony shook his head. “Just wanted to, that’s all.”
There was more behind it, but Escott let it pass. “Tell me what you said to
Kitty Donovan.”
“Who?”
“Stan McAlister’s lady friend.” “But I don’t know…”
Escott shook him once so that his teeth clicked, then leaned in close.
“Jones, we got off on the wrong foot, though that situation may be easily
corrected. What you must keep in mind is thatit can get worse.” He let that
sink in. “Do you wish that?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 104
Pony shook his head a lot. He’d never seen Escott like this before. His last
bit of resistance faded.
Even in the dim light, Escott read it in his face and posture.
“Good man. Now tell me what you did and said last night concerning Stan
McAlister.”
“It wasn’t much,” he said, licking his lips. “I saw his little twist walk in
and park. Thought I’d go over and tell her that that clown Leadfoot had a head
of steam up about Stan’s owing him.”
“Out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Don’t be a—ahh, no, I thought I could get something outta her for it, but
the kid’s green as grass. She din’ know what I was get tin’ at or that it was
supposed to be for sale. By the time I dropped enough hints on her, she’d put
things together herself and ran out on me.” He raised his eyes, looking for
approval. He was disappointed.
“Was there a hit out on McAlister?”
“I dunno.”
“How did you find out about McAlister’s troubles with Leadfoot?”
“I keep my ears open, as usual.”
“Exact information, Pony.”
“But there ain’t any. You know how it is. The news just goes around. I maybe
heard it at the Imperial.”
“Which is… ?”
“A pool hall. Leadfoot’s muscle hangs around there. Sometimes they talk.”
“And who else was there?”
“I dunno what you—”
“Who else was looking for McAlister?”
Pony shut his mouth.
“Was it Vaughn Kyler? Was it one of his men?”
“No! I dunno.”
Escott’s smile threatened to return. “Will I be able to find Kyler there?”
Pony was breathing fast, then he brought it under sudden control. His little
eyes lit up with new confidence. “Yeah, you’ll find him there—or at the
Satchel. He keeps on the move, but you ask around and you’ll find him… or
maybe he’ll find you.” That thought cheered him—a lot.
“Then I’ll be sure to tell him you said hello.”
Pony dropped his grin and went six different kinds of pale. He struggled and
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 105
pushed away. Escott let him go. Pony vanished around the next corner, content
to escape himself and leave Elmer to our tender mercies. Maybe he’d return
later to pick him up, but I wouldn’t want to bet on it. Not that it mattered
much; Elmer was showing signs of waking and might be long gone before Pony got
up enough courage to check on him.
“You fight dirty, you know that?” I said as we walked back to the car.
“Pah, the man was hardly worth the effort, but at least we got some names
from him.”
“Yeah. Which place do we start with?”
“The Satchel, unless you want to risk running into Leadfoot Sam again.”
“Uh-uh. I’ve had enough of him for one lifetime.”
“I daresay he might share the same opinion about you.”
He drove to an unpretentious neighborhood with modest and respectable
storefronts and stuffily closed businesses. The only lights showing at this
hour came from an undistinguished two-story brick building in the middle of
the block. Cars lined both sides of the street. One of them pulled away as we
came up, and Escott pounced on the empty spot.
“You sure this is it?” I asked. “I don’t see any sign out.”
He set the brake. “An establishment like the Satchel hardly needs or wishes
to call undue attention to itself.”
That’s when the dawn came and I sat up a little straighter. “How’d it get a
name like that?”
“I believe it’s related in some way to the satchel the collection man carries
on his rounds. This particular place is used as a sort of bank; the various
funds are added, divided, and dispatched from here.”
“Where do they go?”
“My dear fellow, though this city is not very old when compared with others,
it does have a quite lively and consistent history of corruption to make up
for its relative youth… Use your imagination.”
I didn’t have to use much, since I’d seen the same thing in other places.
Vice flourishes best when it makes regular contributions in the right pockets.
We went up the steps together and opened the double doors. Music was playing
somewhere inside.
“Wait a sec,” I said.
He paused and turned to look where I was looking. A new Cadillac with
smoke-dark windows was parked not twenty feet from the entrance.
“I think we’ve come to the right place, Charles.”
“His car?”
“Or one of his stooges. Keep your eyes open.”
“With pleasure.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 106
The foyer was conservative: simple white curtains, a plant in a big brass
pot, and a square of carpet, but then this part of the house was visible from
the street each time the door opened. Furniture was limited to a table holding
up a lamp and a chair next to it holding up the bouncer. He had the kind of
scar tissue you get from boxing, maybe a couple pounds’ worth, and all the
rest of him was hard muscle. He gave us a close and practiced look, nodded,
and pressed a button on the little table. A buzzer buzzed and Escott opened
the next door in.
The parlor was fancier. A big Christmas tree stood in front of the curtained
window, buried under sheets of tinsel and glass ornament. A wire was strung
across the wall on that side, loaded with dozens of Christmas cards. At first
it seemed odd, but then I thought. Why not? There was no reason why working
girls shouldn’t celebrate the holidays like everyone else.
In one corner was a phonograph, in the other a radio. Both were on and trying
to cancel each other out with competing tunes. A short girl with thin legs was
busy sorting through the records and hardly troubled to glance up. Two more
were bent over the radio trying to listen, and four others were draped or
sprawled over the lush furniture, flipping through magazines or talking. I
took a brief—in this case, an extremely brief-inventory of what they were
almost wearing and wondered why they even bothered.
Escott removed his hat and assumed a bland smile. I tried to do the same. It
didn’t impress the girls. None of them took notice when an older woman walked
in through a curtained-off archway. She was in her forties, plump, and
motherly except for the heavy powder and lip color. She smiled and welcomed
us, asking if we’d like a drink.
“No, thank you,” said Escott. “We’re here to see Mr. Vaughn Kyler.”
She shook her head, a study in polite confusion. “There’s no Mr. Kyler here,
or if he is, then he gave a different name.”
One of the girls snickered.
“A pity, since it is most important that I see him. To be more correct, it is
most important that he should see us.”
Twoblonds lolling on the sofa stopped pretending with their magazines and
listened in. They’d caught Escott’s accent and it was having its usual effect.
The closer one put a leg on the coffee table in front of her and made a
business of straightening her stocking. I watched the show with interest.
“I’d like to help you, but it’s been a slow night,” said the madam. “No one’s
been in here but a few regulars.”
“It’s early yet. Perhaps if you made inquiries with the gentlemen after
they’ve concluded their appointments…” He produced a ten-dollar bill folded to
the size of a business card. If my estimate was correct, he’d just bought each
of us a pretty good time, or one of us a very good time.
She smiled, still polite, but with more sincerity now that he was speaking
her language. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, make yourselves to
home.” She slipped through the curtains, leaving us in the company of a wide
range of grinning possibilities.
“How appropriate,” he said, quirking one eyebrow and apparently referring to
the past of his own home.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 107
“What’s your name, honey?” The blond had finished one stocking and was busy
with the other.
“Charles,” he replied.
“Well, Charles, how ‘bout you sit next to me and make yourself to home, like
the lady said? You must be gettin’ awful hot in that coat.”
Her friend giggled.
“How kind of you to be concerned,” he responded. “And your name is… ?
“Trudy.”
“How do you do, Trudy?” He shook hands with her, which charmed her and the
others to no end. He acted as though he were having high tea at the
Vanderbilts, not in the middle of a brothel surrounded by half-naked women.
The others closed in and insisted on introducing themselves as well. I
suspected that they wanted to keep him talking. An English accent must have
been quite a novelty to them.
I found myself outside the circle, though it didn’t matter to me, I was
enjoying the show too much to want to be a part of it. Escott went into high
gear on the polish and manners. His eyes twinkled and the smile he displayed
now was positively lupine in cast. The girls couldn’t get enough of him and
were visibly disappointed when the madam returned.
Her own smile had faded and her eyes were hard and humorless. “Up there,” she
said, jerking her head at the curtains. “Last door on the left.”
Escott excused himself to the girls. The madam stepped out of the way at the
last second and stayed in the parlor. Her eyes slid past me completely as I
went by her into the next room.
It was a landing empty of people and short on décor. A table held a load of
drinks and ice and a tray of sandwiches. It had one comfortable chair and a
table with a phone and nothing else. Escott took it in with one glance and
stalked up the stairs as directed.
The second-floor hall was lined with doors, some open, others closed. The
varied activities going on behind the closed ones were quite audible, at least
to me, and left nothing to my fertile imagination. It was very distracting.
Escott stopped at the last door as directed, raised a hand to knock, then
thought better of it. He gave me an inquiring look and I nodded, taking his
place. He may have been wearing the vest, but overall, I was far more
bulletproof. I knocked twice and a man on the other side said to come in.
The room was bright and Spartan compared to the parlor. There was no bed, but
a long table with a double row of plain chairs took up the middle of the
floor. It was covered with some pencils, a ledger book, a phone, and several
thousand dollars in small bills. Standing over it, with a gun out and covering
us, was Kyler’s man Hodge.
One side of his face was swollen and bruised up where I’d hit him last night.
From the expression that came over him when he saw me, it was clear that he
remembered the incident as well.
“So Hot Shit’s come back for more?” All those bruises gave him an unpleasant
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 108
grin. Hell, it’d been just as bad before I’d marked him up. His eye dropped to
the slash on my overcoat. “Rimik said he’d cut you good. He’s making plans to
finish the job he started.”
“We’re here to see Kyler,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s what I heard. You got some news on that broad?”
“Maybe, but it’s for Kyler.”
“He don’t have time to waste talking to punks. You give me your news and get
out while you still got legs.”
“Oh, stop it, you’re scaring me to death.”
His grin broadened. “Now, that’s an idea.”
“Lay off the crap, Hodge. We want to talk to your boss and he’ll want to talk
to us.”
“He’s busy.”
“We can wait. The company downstairs is nice enough.”
The muzzle of the gun twitched back and forth. “You and your pal get your
butts in here.”
“First tell your friend with the asthma to come out from behind the door.”
He did no such thing, but his friend cautiously emerged. She had a pinched
face, thick glasses, and wore galoshes. Between them and her baggy woolen
clothes I could figure that she wasn’t part of the house’s regular
entertainment staff. She scuttled over to Hodge to stare at us. She didn’t
look lethal, so we walked in. Escott’s eyes were all over the place,
cataloging it before finally settling on Hodge.
“You… shut the door.”
Escott obliged.
“Stand over there and keep your hands out. Opal, call the boss.”
The girl grabbed the phone and dialed. It took a long time before anyone
answered and she sounded relieved when they did. In a breathy, little-kid
voice she asked for Kyler and mentioned Hodge’s name. I thought he might put
the gun away to talk, but he and the girl worked around that one. He held the
earpiece in his free hand while she held the mouthpiece up so he could speak
into it.
His report to the other end was a brief statement of his situation, then he
listened for a time. The longer he listened the more he smiled.
“Okay, honey, put it away.” She hung up for him.
“Good news?” I asked.
“You just wait here and see. Opal, finish what you started.”
Opal plainly wanted to know what was going on, but was too timid to come out
and ask. She sat at the table and with a nudge from Hodge began counting
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 109
money. She quickly went through the stacks, put them in order, and stretched
rubber bands around the bundles she made. Each bundle was recorded into the
ledger.
Escott was looking at that book in much the same way a starving man would
view a steak dinner.
Opal finished counting and loaded all the money and the ledger into her huge
purse. And I’d been expecting to see a satchel.
Hodge nodded approval. “Okay, now get downstairs and watch for him. Lemme
know when he comes.”
“By myself?” Her face hardened with indignation.
“How else?”
“But those women make fun of me.”
“So sit in the kitchen. G’wan.”
She wrinkled her lip and nose in distaste and left. Hodge covered his
annoyance with a laugh.
“I swear, she’s gotta be the only broad left in this town past the age of
consent that ain’t consented yet. One of these days I’ll have to screw her
just so she can start understanding all the jokes.”
“Mr. Kyler’s accountant, is she?” asked Escott with mild curiosity.
“No, his gardener. Who the hell are you?”
“An interested party.”
“Gimme a name.”
“Escott.”
Hodge’s eye flashed to me and back again. “So you’re the one who belongs to
the Nash. How’d you know to come here?”
“I knew where to ask the right questions.”
“Then somebody’s been talking too much.”
“On the contrary, not nearly enough. Mr. Kyler’s made quite an impression on
the community hereabouts.”
Hodge didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not. Opal saved him
the trouble by coming in.
“He just pulled up.”
“Get the bag and stay behind me. You two go out first.”
We paraded downstairs, but turned right instead of left and exited the
building through the kitchen. It faced an alley and we waited there while Opal
went ahead with the money. When she came back, her purse looked a lot lighter
and thinner. Hodge told her to wait in his car, and she all but galloped away.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 110
A Caddy rolled across the alley entrance. It looked identical to the one I’d
spotted earlier, right down to the smoked-over windows. The front door opened.
Chaven got out of the driver’s side and came around to check that everything
was clear. He joined Hodge and gave us each a quick slap-down search. He found
Escott’s gun right away and relieved him of it. He nodded to Hodge and we were
urged forward.
The front passenger window facing us rolled down. Kyler was on the other
side.
“What is it?” His hard brown eyes froze onto mine. My back hairs starting
climbing.
“About Doreen Grey. Someone shot her.”
If anything, his expression got even more remote. “I know. What about it?”
“Did you do it?”
Now he had no expression at all. I tried to focus down on him, to pin him
fast with my own influence.
Nothing happened.
There was enough light for it to work, maybe I needed to concentrate more. I
tried again. “Did you shoot her?”
“No.” His eyes raked me, indifferent to the pressure I was putting on.
My muscles contracted all over. His response was completely wrong. He should
have been slack jawed or dreamy or anything hut in control of himself. On the
edge of sight, I noticed Escott glance quickly at me. He’d sensed that
something was seriously off.
In the alley behind us, Hodge and Chaven shifted on their feet.
“This one’s Escott, boss,” said Hodge, pointing.
Kyler’s eyes narrowed. “I know.”
Escott nodded. “We appreciate your personal attention in this matter.”
“I’m off your suspect list for the woman,” Kyler told him.
“To be sure, she was under your protection, but we had to be certain. Were
you at any point ever able to make contact with her?”
“No. Someone got to her first.”
“Do you know who that person is?”
No answer.
“Have you any idea at all?”
He turned his head to look at something in the backseat. When he turned back,
his face was a little more animated with something that was a very distant
cousin to amusement.
“You figure it out yourself, Mr. Private Agent.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 111
Escott’s chin lifted.
“Yes, I do know who you are. You crossed Frankie Paco once and managed to
survive the hit he had out on you. You even bumped Fred Sanderson and shifted
the blame to his partner.”
The inaccuracy of fact was heartening to me. I felt marginally better knowing
that Kyler was fallible on some level. On the other hand, it put Escott on the
spot.
“That stuff’s over now. After tonight, you stay out of my way.”
One corner of Escott’s mouth twitched. I knew him well enough to interpret it
and felt my insides shrink. “Thank you for the warning,” he said evenly.
“It’s the only one you’ll get. I want you to understand that I’m a lot better
at this than Paco ever was.”
Escott’s eyes glittered. “Of that I have no doubt.”
Kyler could tell he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted and it annoyed him.
“Chaven.”
Chaven took one step forward and buried his fist into Escott in a spot not
covered by his vest—in this case, his right kidney. Escott bit back a sharp
grunt of pain, but couldn’t stop himself form dropping down on one knee. I
moved toward Chaven, but Hodge still had his gun out.
“You just try it, Hot Shit,” he said. “Give me an excuse.”
It was enough to make me think twice about starting something that we’d all
regret. I kept my movements easy and knelt by Escott.
I hissed in his ear, “You’re an actor, goddammit, pretend you’re scared.”
He gasped a few times. Fortunately his head was down so it wasn’t obvious
that he was stifling laughter. “It’s a bit late for that; he’d never believe
such a show now.”
“Maybe he’ll believe it from me—I don’t have to pretend.”
“What could you be…”
But I lost the rest of it when Hodge loomed close and rammed a knee into my
side. The breath washed out of my lungs. My back hit the cold, damp pavement
and my head almost followed. I tucked my chin down just in time.
“That’s for last night,” he said.
I looked up, disoriented by my sudden roll from vertical to horizontal. Hodge
was grinning, enjoying his chance to pay me back. His ability to really do
damage was limited; my internal changes had toughened me up inside and out,
but that didn’t mean I was happy just to lie there and take it. In fact, I was
pissed as hell and wanted to kill him. What held me back was Escott; I didn’t
want him getting caught in the middle, but he was already struggling to stand.
“No,” I told him urgently. “Stay there and lemme—”
Hodge interrupted again. My teeth clacked together, barely missing my tongue.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 112
White light flashed behind my eyes. My body jerked and lay flat.
Vulnerable.
“That’s for tonight…”
He’d used his foot this time, and my head had been the football. I had to
fight to stay conscious. If I blacked out for even a second or two, I’d vanish
into nothingness for who knows how long. Hodge watched my efforts with hot
interest. He was waiting until I’d recovered enough to fully appreciate his
next trick.
“… and this is for tomorrow.”
He raised his foot, this time to bash it straight down into my groin.
I was tough, but not that tough. Terror and reflex took over. I didn’t think
about whether the place was dark enough for me to get away with it, or about
the problems that might emerge; this was pure instinct. I disappeared a bare
instant before contact. His foot plowed through empty air and slammed the
pavement. He made a short cry, either from surprise or sudden fear; I couldn’t
tell.
Now I fought to regain solidity and won, by a narrow margin. My anger helped.
I’d vanished for one long second, but reappeared in the same spot with my hips
shifted well out of harm’s way. Hodge’s foot was still down, his arms waving
as he tried to get his balance back. With such an opportunity presenting
itself, I didn’t have to think twice about taking it—the only rule in a gutter
fight is to survive. Because of the awkward angle, I couldn’t put much force
into the punch, but it was enough to do the job. My fist swung up and smashed
solidly against his groin.
His scream tore down both ends of the street and made flat echoes up the
walls of the alley. He fell and rolled away, legs pulled in, hands cupping and
cradling, his face twisted.
I got to my feet. Fast. Chaven had backed off a few steps and drawn his gun.
It wavered equally between me and Escott.
A car door snicked open behind me. Kyler was out and holding a fistful of
automatic. The expression on his face was a beaut: a cross between fear and
anger. He’d obviously noticed my vanishing act and was trying to make sense of
the impossibility of what he’d seen. He sure as hell hated the uncertainty.
The only defense I had now was to bluff it out and act normal—or as normal as
possible given the circumstances. I hugged my side with an elbow, doubled over
a little, and tenderly checked out my jaw, remembering to breathe heavily.
Chaven and Kyler didn’t move, each waiting to see what happened next.
Escott understood what I was trying to do and made his own contribution to
the illusion. “Are you hurt?”
“Yeah, I’m hurt,” I snapped. “That son of a bitch went too far. I hope he’s
crippled.”
Their attention shifted to Hodge, as I’d hoped. “Check on him,” said Kyler.
Chaven crab-walked over, keeping us covered. Hodge’s replies to his questions
were pretty incoherent. Even with my hearing, I was only able to pick up
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 113
“shit.” “goddamn,” and “kill ‘em,” spaced between pain-choked groans. I wasn’t
about to feel sorry for him, though. He was only going through what he’d had
planned for me.
Escott was on his feet by now and cautiously joined me.
“Did Chaven see anything?” I whispered.
“I don’t think so, I was in his way.”
That was something.
Kyler moved abruptly and with an air of finality. For him, even a bad
decision was better than no decision at all. His gun arm went straight and
steadied, the muzzle sight aimed squarely at me. I stopped hugging bruises I
no longer felt and shoved Escott away toward the possible cover of some trash
cans. He was still too close to the line of fire, but if he ducked fast
enough…
The kitchen door of the Satchel opened and the bouncer stuck his head out,
investigating the noise. Curtains in the side window twitched and faces full
of speculation peered at us. Opal appeared in the alley entrance and stared,
one gloved hand to her mouth.
Kyler saw them and hesitated. They were part of his organization to one
degree or another, but witnesses all the same.
There was a subtle shift in his posture and I knew hell was not going to
break loose—at least for the time being.
“Chaven… get him out of here.”
With Opal’s nervous and clucking help, Chaven helped Hodge limp to his Caddy
out front. Kyler kept us pinned the whole time with his gun and his eyes. I
don’t think he blinked even once.
Escott’s expression had since assumed more serious lines, which was what
Kyler must have wanted in the first place. Once Hodge was out of the way he
walked over to get one more good look at us. No one was smiling.
“No changes,” he said. “Escott, you stay out of my way. Fleming, I don’t ever
want to see you again. You can leave town or you can die, it doesn’t matter to
me. You have until tomorrow.”
I focused onto his eyes, memorizing them, trying once more to break through
their stone-hard surface to get at the mind beneath.
Nothing.
Chaven circled around to the other side of the car and opened the rear
driver’s door. He bent over some task for a moment. I heard a soft thud and
thump against the road surface.
Kyler heard it, too, and started backing away until he reached the car. He
opened the passenger door and slipped inside. Chaven was already in the
driver’s seat and had the motor running. The big Caddy glided off in near
silence. Its twin, driven by Opal, followed a moment later. Hodge was in the
rear seat and struggled up to the window for one last glare at me.
Good riddance.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 114
Escott had nerves after all, and released the pent-up sigh he’d been saving.
“You know,” he said irritably, “that rat-faced fellow still has my Webley.”
I had to swallow down a laugh that was trying to bubble up. If it got away
from me now, I might not be able to stop. As a distraction, I checked to see
what all our lifeguards at the Satchel were doing. Even as I turned, the
bouncer withdrew and locked the door. The faces in the window disappeared. The
lights still glowed, but the shades and curtains were in place again. With men
like Kyler, curiosity was a shortcut to bad luck.
“You wanna go home?” I asked.
“That’s an excellent idea.”
Escott’s stride was a little stiff. He absently rubbed his sore kidney as we
quit the alley.
In the road before us lay a large, immobile bundle. I couldn’t make it out at
first; not until we walked closer, and saw that it had arms and legs.
A man’s body.
Kyler had left behind his rubbish for us to clean up.
Escott cautiously turned him over. I caught the bloodsmell, sharp in the
cold, damp air. The man had been put through the grinder. Twice.
His face was covered with blood, puffed, badly marked… and recognizable.
“Jesus,” I said. “It’s Harry Summers.”
Chapter Nine
ESCOTT’S HAND dipped and held still. “He’s got a pulse.” When he tried to
peel back an eyelid, Summers flinched.
“G’way,” he moaned.
“Easy now, Mr. Summers, we’re friends. I’m Charles Escott, we met yesterday—”
“Lemme ‘lone.”
“Harry,” I said. “It’s me, Fleming. Remember from last night? At the Top
Hat?”
“G’tahell.”
“Never mind that, just tell us where it hurts.”
“All goddamn over.”
We spent a few minutes checking him for broken bones and bullet holes.
Summers’s answers to questions concerning his health were brief and grudging.
The only time he showed any energy was when Escott stated his intent to take
him to the hospital.
“Uh-uh. I’m not hurt that bad.”
“You could have internal injuries, Mr. Summers.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 115
“I’ve been in fights before. I know when to go in. I don’t need to go in.”
Escott decided not to press things. “Are you able to walk?”
“What’s the rush?”
“We’re all rather visible here. Besides, my car is infinitely more
comfortable than the street.”
The offer of a better place to rest penetrated Summers’s somewhat dented
skull and he allowed us to stand him up for the short walk to the Nash. We put
him in with more care than Chaven had taken hauling him out, not that he was
in any condition to appreciate our efforts. Once installed in the backseat, he
heeled over on his side to hug his gut.
“You sure about not taking him to the hospital?” I asked.
“Humoring him will be much less difficult at this point. I’d also like to
avoid official scrutiny until we find out how and why he ended up in Kyler’s
company.”
“Okay, but if he starts looking really bad, he’s going in.”
“Absolutely.”
Escott drove home and made good time getting us there. He parked out front
for a change; the steps were broader and safer than the ones to the back door.
I was thankful to see that he’d had my own car picked up and returned from the
Boswell. I had a stinking idea that I might need it later.
Summers was reluctant to move, but we somehow got him out and into the house.
Escott started the hot water running in the kitchen sink, then went upstairs
for medical supplies while I settled our reluctant guest at the table. I made
a quick raid on the liquor cabinet in the dining room. Summers needed no
persuasion to drink down the triple I offered him.
“What happened?” I asked.
He snorted once as though I was a complete idiot and shook his head. His eye
caught on the sleeve of my coat. “What about you?”
“I trimmed my nails and the scissors slipped. Why’d Kyler do this to you?”
He stared into his drink.
“What do you know about McAlister’s death?”
“G’tahell.”
“What about Marian’s bracelet?”
He stared at the table.
Escott had returned with an armful of stuff and was watching quietly from the
hall doorway. He raised a questioning eyebrow. I shrugged. He walked in and
dropped a load of towels, bandaging, and iodine on the table.
The water was running hot now, and Summers eschewed further help as he
staggered to the sink to clean himself up. I ducked back to the dining room to
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 116
find him another drink. Escott followed.
“Want one?” I asked.
“Please. The usual, but leave out the tonic this time.”
I opened the gin bottle and poured generously, feeling a strong tug of regret
that I couldn’t join him. Physically, I could no longer tolerate the stuff,
but the emotional need was still there: it’d been a hell of a night and I
wanted to get drunk. I handed Escott his glass and tried not to watch as he
took his first sip.
He looked past the dining room door at Summers, who was sluggishly washing
his face. “He’s not going to be especially cooperative,” he said.
“I’ve already noticed that.”
“You may have to nudge him along.”
Occupied with Summers, he didn’t notice my hesitation. “I think we’ll get
more from him if he works up to talking on his own.”
“Unless it takes him all night.”
“You in a hurry?”
“Possibly. It’s Kyler that I’m concerned about.”
“Because of Harry?”
He took another sip. “Consider this: Kyler could have dropped him at any
point in the city he wished. Why, then, should he leave him with us?”
“It’s a spit in the eye. He’s sure he’s got us pinned. We’re all supposed to
be too scared now to go running to the cops.”
“And are we?”
He was serious, so I gave him a serious answer. “I’m still thinking it over.”
“Are you, now? What about the ultimatum for you to leave town?”
“Or die. Don’t forget that.”
“Doesn’t give one much of a choice, does it?”
“Yeah, and they’re both lousy. Kyler must have been scared himself when I
went out like that.”
“Not that I can blame you for your action. Hodge’s last assault was
motivation enough for any desperate measure, and you certainly looked
desperate. I must compliment you on your decision to pay him back in kind.”
“Thanks, I spent hours thinking it over.”
“Hodge might well be doing the same thing,” he said with meaning.
“You’re just full of encouragement, Charles. Hodge I can handle. I know his
type: he’s garbage, which means he’s nothing—it’s Kyler that’s got me
worried.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 117
“Indeed?”
“I’d be a dunce not to be.”
“Buy why? What have you to really worry about?”
He’d sliced right into it and wasn’t going to be fobbed off with a light
excuse this time. Mindful of Summers in the next room, I lowered my voice.
“Last night I started showing off and pulled a couple of fast ones with
Leadfoot Sam. Mostly I scared the shit out of him, because he didn’t know what
he was seeing—or wasn’t seeing. All he wanted was to get away from me and stay
there because he couldn’t handle any of it.”
“And Kyler is of a different sort than Leadfoot?”
“He’s either smarter or dumber, depending how you want to look at things.
Smarter because he knows I’m different and could be a threat, dumber because
he hasn’t the sense to leave it alone. You were standing right there, you saw
what was going on.”
“Then you did try to hypnotize him?”
“Three times. Nothing happened. I was going up against a brick wall and
bouncing right off. The ball drops away and the wall just sits there and
doesn’t notice a thing.”
“The only time that’s ever happened to you was with—
“Yeah, another vampire. I know.”
“Is Kyler… ?”
“No,” I said with much relief. “That’s one of the first things I thought of,
so you can bet your ass that I checked. He’s got a nice, steady heartbeat.”
“There’s one other possibility—also a rather unpleasant one.”
“You’ve got my attention already.”
“It concerns Kyler’s mental state. Do you recall the problem you had with
Evan Robley a few months back?”
I did, and the memory of the experience was still uncomfortably clear.
“You tried to break through to the man and could not.”
“Only because the poor guy went over the edge without a rope. I see what
you’re getting at, but aren’t the situations just too different? Evan was
going through a horrible emotional shock and had lost control; Kyler’s his
exact opposite. I never met anyone who was so totally sure of himself.”
“Yes, each an extreme opposite to one another—but both able to resist your
influence. It’s probably not a conscious resistance either. Mr. Robley was so
affected by his grief that for a time he was simply unaware of your presence.“
“But that changed later,” I pointed out.
“Because Mr. Robley was nearly recovered from his shock. He went over the
edge, but managed to climb back. By contrast, Kyler is in a similar mental
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 118
state, but able to function as though he were normal.”
It sank in. Deep. And I didn’t want it.
“I hasten to add that whatever is wrong with Kyler need not claim a severe
emotional shock as its source, as in the case of Mr. Robley. Some people are
born that way, or so it would seem.”
“Charles, any way you look at it, Kyler’s loony-bin material.”
“Possibly. For now, all we may do is speculate, basing our speculations upon
a single piece of negative evidence.”
“What? That I can’t influence him, so he has to be nuts? It sounds good to
me.”
“But there’s also your personal reaction to the man, as well us my own.
Earlier tonight you compared him to a snake. Having met him, I’m inclined to
heartily agree with your assessment.” He rubbed the spot on his back where
he’d been punched.
“Which isn’t exactly the kind of hard evidence you like.”
“Ah. but I do set much store in instinctual reaction. We may have no
conscious reason why certain individuals repel us but it is generally a good
idea to give such inner reactions sober consideration. Time and again I have
relied upon it and have thus far suffered no regrets.”
Like the time he’d followed an amnesiac vampire around to see what made him
tick. “Okay, no arguments from me there.”
He finished off his gin. “No arguments, indeed. But you may yet end up having
to do something to protect yourself from him.”
“Are you trying to talk me into taking on Kyler?”
“I’m attempting to set out all the options in my own mind. Verbalizing them
sometimes helps. As for having another direct confrontation with Kyler, that
is your decision entirely.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. “I wouldn’t even know where to find him.”
“To quote our abbreviated friend Pony Jones, ‘maybe he’ll find you.’ ”
“Yeah,” I said glumly. Which was what I was really afraid of, and anyone
standing next to me could get caught in the cross fire.
In the kitchen, Summers had shut off the water and was gingerly dabbing his
face with a towel. I finished pouring out a second drink for him and we went
in.
Once all the blood had been washed away, the damage looked only slightly less
alarming. One eye was swollen shut; the other had a cut over the brow. The
rest of his inventory included various bruises in tender spots, a split lip,
and a broken nose.
“If you are still adverse to the idea of a hospital, I know of a doctor you
may see,” Escott offered. He put down his used glass and stepped over to the
refrigerator, pulling out an ice tray.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 119
“I’ll be all right,” Summers insisted, dropping back into his seat at the
table. “What d’you want, anyway?”
“You may recall that I was engaged by Mr. Pierce to locate his daughter’s
missing bracelet. Have you seen it, by any chance?”
Summers gave him a go-to-hell look. Escott ignored it and took the tray to
the sink. He produced an ice pick from a drawer and began chopping. “Two
people have died over this business so far, Mr. Summers. Vaughn Kyler is
involved and I believe you know to what extent and why. We want you to tell
us—
“And get another going-over? No, thanks.”
Escott scraped the shards of ice onto a towel, bundled it up, and offered the
makeshift ice bag to Summers. He accepted with some suspicion, then cautiously
held it to his closed eye.
“I’ve no wish,” said Escott, “to involve the police just yet…”
“You leave them outta this, it’s none of their business.”
“If not, then it is most certainly mine, since Kyler was kind enough to drop
you into my hands. He would not have done so if he were at all worried over
the information you can give us.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Then you are at no risk in telling us about it. Why did Kyler do this to
you? What did he want from you?”
Summers said nothing.
“Very well, then let’s try it this way: Kyler was most interested in locating
a friend of Stan McAlister’s, and so, apparently, was someone else. That
friend was shot today, Kyler claims he did not do it. Perhaps you did.”
“I dunno what you’re talking about.”
Escott’s lips thinned and we exchanged a look. Summers was a poor liar. “You
know enough to have tried to keep it to yourself; otherwise he wouldn’t have
expended so much effort upon you. And whatever it is, it’s quite important, or
you wouldn’t have put up so much resistance.”
Summers fiddled with the towel to pack the ice into a smaller bundle. The
crunch and click were loud in the quiet kitchen.
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t say anything, not to him and not to you.”
“I see. So Kyler did not get the information he needed; that or he knew it
already and only wanted you to confirm it for him, which you did in some way
or he would not have released you.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“There are forms of silence that may speak volumes to the right observer, and
I’ve no doubt that Kyler is an observant man. What did he ask of you?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 120
“Nothing.”
Escott raised one brow at me to let me know it was my turn. The tension that
had turned my hands into fists now traveled up my arms and down my back. I was
expected to give Summers the works, to put him under, and then steal from his
mind. That had been our pattern in the past and I’d followed it freely enough
und with little thought. A fast suggestion or a brief question for a simple
answer wouldn’t be good enough this time. Refusal would only prompt Escott to
question me, and I’d either have to not answer or lie to him, and I didn’t
want to do either.
“If you’re done, then I want to go home,” Summers rumbled.
“Yeah, we’re done,” I told him.
Both of them looked surprised.
“We don’t need him, Charles, any more than Kyler did.”
Escott frowned for a long moment.
“Think about it,” I said. “Kyler doesn’t care who killed Stan McAlister or if
Kitty gets the blame for it, that’s not his business. All he seems to want is
the bracelet. He puts out word that he wants to meet Stan’s friend, who
probably has it. He guarantees their safety and promises money at the end of
things. But someone beat him to the meeting and the friend is shot. It makes
him look bad, as though he went back on his word. He doesn’t like looking bad.
The bracelet’s nothing to him now, he’s going after the person who crossed him
up. He can’t get to Kitty, Pierce, or Marian; they’re too well protected, so
he picks up Harry to get some answers. It’s easy enough to figure out just
what Harry knows.”
Summers’s bruised face got darker.
“Which takes us back to Stan McAlister. Youcouldhave killed him, Harry. You
once took a swing at him for looking at Marian the wrong way.”
“How did—” He clamped his mouth shut. He’d assumed, inaccurately, that Marian
had told me all about it.
“Jealousy’s a damn good motive. And though it’s just possible that you could
have talked him into letting you come up with him to Kitty’s flat, Stan
wouldn’t have been dumb enough to turn his back on you. But you wouldn’t have
stood behind him and used an iron skillet and then a carving knife to make
sure of the job, you’d have simply smashed his face in.
“But none of that happened. Someone else killed Stan. It wasn’t Kitty, all
she did was walk in and run out. Not smart, but the kid was too scared to
think straight. The only others with a motive are the Pierces.”
Summers’s heartbeat, already high, jumped higher.
“Sebastian Pierce wanted the bracelet back; he hired us to get it. That could
have been a move to provide him the cover he needed to murder Stan and avoid
being a suspect. But I don’t think he’s the type to try anything complicated.
Besides, he’s got enough money and connections to order up anything he pleases
and have the job done right. If his goal had been to kill Stan he’d have been
a lot more efficient about it. That leaves us with Marian—”
“No it doesn’t. She didn’t do anything.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 121
“Then it won’t hurt if I speculate about it—just so we can eliminate her from
things.”
Summers subsided, all but growling, and glared at something inside him. He
wasn’t going to like what I had to say but hadn’t worked up to the point of
stopping me before I said it.
“This started out as a theft, with us hired to recover the goods, but Stan
was a blackmailer, not a thief. Suppose he didn’t steal the bracelet, but that
it was given to him? You said last night that she went with you because you
did some time. Marian likes to break rules, and going out with tough guys is
part of the thrill for her.
“Now, Stan had a nasty little blackmail racket going. While he got naked with
any girl who had some money put aside, his partner was in the next room taking
photos of all the fun and games. Later on, he’d show the results to the girl,
making a convincing threat, and collect his living from them if they fell for
it.
“He had a real talent for finding women who liked rubbing shoulders with his
kind of lowlife. Maybe Kitty’s one of ‘em, I don’t know, but he’d made friends
with her and she had the kind of high-brow connections that took him straight
to Marian Pierce.
“We’ll leave out the details of how and when and just suppose that he started
blackmailing Marian, but for once, instead of cash like before, he decides to
go for something really big and demands her bracelet as payment. He gets it,
but it’s eventually missed. Her father suspects a straight theft, and we’re
brought in to recover it.
“But Marian’s got her eyes open for trouble and spots us, picking me out to
pump for information at the club. When she tailed, she went to Stan and told
him what was going on, and he ducked out. He didn’t go straight back to his
hotel, because he had a date with Kitty. I figure he went to the Angel Grill
to find her.”
“Could he have not broken his appointment and apologized later?” asked
Escott. “The man must have surely been in too much of a hurry.”
“You’ve got to include the stuff I got from his partner.”
“What stuff is that, specifically?”
“That Stan had fallen in love with Kitty. As far as we’ve learned, she’s the
only one he didn’t blackmail, though she certainly fits into the pattern he
set with all the other women he’s known.”
“Negative evidence,” he cautioned.
I shrugged. “Maybe so, but it accounts for why he didn’t rush directly home
to the Boswell to start packing. He went to the Angel, missed her or heard
she’d left, then drove home. When he did arrive, Kitty warned him off, and he
bolted for her place. Now he and Marian had their heads together at the club,
but they didn’t have much time for talk, and Marian probably had a lot to say.
Stan could have let drop where he’d be and Marian decided to meet him there.”
“Or Stan could have asked her to follow him.”
“Yeah?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 122
“To obtain ready cash from her,” he explained.
I nodded. If McAlister had wanted a quick exit fromChicago , he’d have had a
hard time trading the bracelet for train tickets. “Okay, so when Stan turned
up at Kitty’s place, Marian was waiting for him. They go inside with Stan’s
key and eventually end up in the kitchen, probably looking for a drink. Now
we’ve got two different things for them to talk about at this point: Stan
could be demanding more money from Marian, or Marian could be wanting to get
the bracelet back.”
“Or both?”
“Either way it ends up in a fight. Stan makes the mistake of turning his back
on her and she hits him with the first thing that comes to hand, which was an
iron skillet. It must have killed him outright. She might not have known he
was dead, but she was mad enough to kill him.”
Escott shook his head once, not as a denial of what I was saying, but as a
caution not to say it. Summers was hunched low over the table. He didn’t need
to hear the details of the knifing that had been done to make sure McAlister
died.
“She searches the body and finds Stan’s wallet and the gun his partner said
he carried. She takes them and closes up afterward with his key, leaving Kitty
to find Stan, and us to find Kitty. Then Marian runs like hell. She ran right
to you, Harry, because she knew you’d give her an alibi…”
Summers had at last worked up to his breaking point, only now he was far
beyond just telling me off. He swung the ice-filled towel, using it like a
cold, wet blackjack. I’d been expecting something like that and dodged. It hit
my shoulder instead of my face. The towel came open and ice exploded across
the kitchen. I made a grab for his arms, but he was too fast and, twisting the
other way, made a lunge for the counter.
Correction: he made a lunge for the ice pick on the counter.
He got it.
He was too crazy to do much beyond blindly striking out at anything that
moved, which included Escott. Escott aborted his attempt to grab at the ice
pick and hauled himself back just in time to avoid a stab in the chest.
Summers started after him.
“Harry!”
My shout got his attention. He turned and sliced air in my direction. His
expression was fixed midway between red-faced fury and helpless frustration.
With or without the bruising, he was unrecognizable. My idea of calming him
down and talking him into dropping the ice pick was not going to work. He gave
me no time to try, anyway, and rushed toward me.
The kitchen wasn’t that big a room and only got smaller with the three of us
playing tag around the table and chairs. The ice pick made the place
positively claustrophobic. I was too busy watching it to see where my feet
were going. My leg bumped a chair over while I backed away. It toppled in the
wrong direction and I nearly fell on it. Summers turned my distraction into an
opportunity for himself and went in under what little guard I had left.
The point of the damned thing missed the underside of my chin only because
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 123
Summers’s foot skidded on a piece of ice. I caught his arm just below the
wrist, turned him fast so that I was behind him, and grabbed his other arm. He
shifted his weight automatically like a dancer and rammed an elbow into my
stomach. It didn’t do me any good, nor did his heel when he raked it down my
shin and onto my foot.
Escott cut in, fastening onto Summers’s left arm. I let go and put all my
concentration on the hand with the ice pick, using both of mine to slam it
down hard against the old oak table. Nearly an inch of the business end
embedded itself into the wood. Summers’s hand shot past the handle. He let out
with a roar of outrage when it connected with a muffled crack against the hard
wood. The roar went up the scale, lost its force, and died off. His knees
abruptly gave way and he sank to the floor. The knotted muscles in the arm I
held went as limp as wet rope.
The incident hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds. His encounter with Kyler
had left him too sore to fight for long and he was puffing like an Olympic
runner. Between gasps, he called us every name he could think of, and a few
more besides before finally winding down.
Escott was breathing hard through his teeth. It was more from anger than from
physical need. He wasn’t used to having homicidal maniacs tearing around his
house. “At least we know just what led up to his beating earlier tonight,” he
said.
“Yeah, he and Kyler both have short fuses.”
“I cannot say that I’m terribly sorry over it.”
“Is that how it happened, Harry?” I asked.
“G’ta hell,” he moaned.
I let go of my grip and stood away from him. He continued to kneel, leaning
on the table as though in awkward prayer. Escott released him, curling his lip
disapprovingly at the ice pick. With a slight effort, he removed it from the
table to put it away in a drawer. He’d forgotten his compulsive neatness for
once and the omission had nearly cost us both. Knowing him, he was probably
more embarrassed than anything else. I decided to forget about it, since it
was a cinch that Escott wouldn’t.
“You were saying something about Marian Pierce?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I looked down at Summers’s bowed back. He was going through hell and
I knew exactly what he felt like. “She killed him, Harry. And she told you all
about it, didn’t she?”
“It’s not her fault,” he insisted. “None of it was her fault. He was coming
after her. The son of a bitch was tryin’ to rape her, for God’s sake. It was
self-defense.”
Self-defense. I glanced at Escott and saw confirmation of my own disbelief.
It was just remotely possible. Summers had accepted her story, but then he was
in love with her; he needed his illusions.
“And she asked you for an alibi?”
“She didn’t have to ask,” he snarled.
“No, I guess she didn’t.” I looked at Escott. “My best guess is that when she
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 124
couldn’t find the bracelet she went to the Boswell, but too many people were
there first, and she could figure they were all looking for it themselves.”
“And from the hotel, she began to follow Miss—McAlister’s partner.” Escott
was still throwing out a smoke screen to protect Doreen’s identity. I was glad
of that.
“Or me,” I added, “until I finally ended up at the studio. While the partner
and I were busy at the bar down the street, Marian broke in and searched the
place. Again, she came up with a blank.”
“And this is where Kyler comes in.”
“She needed help, so she called in a professional. We don’t know her
connection to him yet, but I’m ready to start looking for it. What’s Pierce’s
number?”
Escott gave it, his brows drawing together and his mouth falling into a hard,
thin line.
I eventually got hold of the housekeeper, identified myself, and asked a few
fast questions. The news was good. Pierce, his daughter, Kitty, andGriffin
were with the police and had been for most of the evening. Lieutenant Blair
was probably doing a thorough job on them, and for once I had reason to
silently bless his zealous attitude.
Hanging up, I drew Escott back out of earshot and filled him in. “I’m going
over to Pierce’s. Can you meet me there later?”
“Certainly, but—”
I jerked a thumb toward Summers. “You’ll have to take him in to the hospital,
after all. I broke his arm, only he doesn’t feel it yet.”
Escott looked surprised again.
Excuses always sound self-conscious. I cut off the one I was about to make
and stuck to cold fact. “It snapped when I slammed it on the table. I felt it
go.”
The situation was beyond reasonable comment, so he didn’t make one. “Very
well, I’ll take him in. What are you planning to do at Pierce’s?”
“A little illegal searching. Kyler’s had a big head start, but maybe I’ll get
lucky. That’s the other reason he dumped Harry with us—to keep us busy while
he goes after the bracelet. Odds are he’ll want to go after Marian, too, so
you’ll have to call Blair and fill him in so he can keep her safe.”
“Arrest her, you mean.”
Anger that I’d been unaware of and holding down flared quietly with that
possibility. “Yes, goddammit. If she’s the one who shot Doreen I want her put
away.”
Then his question was suddenly there again. It was the same one he’d wanted
to ask a few scant hours ago in his office when he first knew something was
wrong for me. Telepathy was not a part of my changed condition, but I could
almost hear his “why?” bouncing between my ears. He was asking for something
beyond the simple and obvious need for justice; what he wanted was an
explanation of my personal motive.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 125
There were dozens, but the top dog of them all was guilt. If I hadn’t been
curious or been made drunk and stupid by the easy power the hypnosis granted
me, if I hadn’t… hadn’t…
The room seemed very closed up. The silence added to my discomfort. I tried
to ease it with talk. “While you’re at the hospital, would you check on her
for me? See how she’s doing?”
Then he face went neutral. I winced inside. That bland front meant he was
making all kinds of connections now. Once he saw her, he’d have all the proof
necessary to turn them into conclusions. I might as well have tied a ribbon
around it as a late Christmas present.
“Certainly,” he promised, his voice also carefully neutral.
He had pockets of privacy for himself and was perceptive enough to recognize
and respect them in others, but this particular one touched too close to our
work to be avoided. He wouldn’t let it pass, not later, when there was time
for talk.
He watched my face. God knows what he made of the expression there. Probably
a lot more than I ever wanted to reveal. I could have stood there all night
telling him how I’d lost control, how sheer appetite and self-indulgence had
brought me that close to killing her. The words only clogged in my throat.
And the worst part was that as much as the experience had shaken and
frightened me, the insistent desire was still there, and it was very, very
strong.
It wanted—no, I wanted…
Doreen had provided only the merest sample of what the full sensual potential
must be. I’d cut off far too soon. She wouldn’t have minded if I’d gone on;
she wouldn’t have cared.
She hadn’t cared. The overwhelming pleasure had been there for her as well.
I wanted… to finish what had been started. The craving for her blood was like
an itch inside my mind, one that I could reach but didn’t dare scratch. Dear
God, it wasn’t enough that I’d raped the woman, I was ready to do it again
until she died from it.
I palmed my car key and walked out.
Quickly.
I don’t remember the trip over to the Pierce estate. One moment I was just
starting my car and the next I was rolling through a lush neighborhood of tall
trees and large, rich houses. It was like the kind of travel that happens to
you when you dream, except I was sure I didn’t dream anymore, at least not in
a way that could be remembered upon awakening. No real sleep, no more dreams.
I wondered if the lack could make me go crazy. Or maybe it was like the liquor
in Escott’s cabinet, with no true need beyond what was generated in my own
mind.
If I could only apply that to Doreen.
No. I don’t want to think about her.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 126
I managed to blank her and everything else out long enough to get to the
right address, then my mind shifted over to safer and simpler areas, like how
to sneak onto the estate unseen. Easy for me, not so easy for my car—I wasn’t
about to leave it someplace and hike.
The entrance to the front drive had big stone gateposts to punctuate the ends
of a long brick wall, but no gates hung from them. I ignored the opening and
went on to circle the rest of the block. This property took up the whole of
it. The brick wall was unbroken until I made my second turning and found
another, narrower driveway. Small blue and white tiles set into the cement of
the curb spelled outPierce Lane . A sign on a second, and less ostentatious,
set of gateposts informed me that this was a private drive and to keep out.
There were gates on this, the hack door, but they’d been left wide open.
It was a mixed blessing: I was able to sail right in, but it left me
wondering if anyone else had done the same or was about to do so. Kyler was
very much on my mind and I was realistically expecting him to be here ahead of
me, and if so… well, I’d think of something.
For starters, I cut off my headlights and coasted forward, going easy on the
gas pedal. I was anticipating a quick walk up to the main house, getting
inside, and locating Marian’s room. Once there, I planned to quietly tear it
apart until I found the bracelet. But that idea got tossed out as I rounded a
gentle curve and saw lights on in the guest house.
Some member of the household staff could be doing a little late cleaning up
after Kitty’s invasion, but I was too suspicious to take that on faith. I
swung the wheel over. The car had just enough momentum to run up the curve in
the drive and slot itself next to the guest-house garage. At least it was out
of view from the house. Anyone coming in by way ofPierce Lane would spot it.
but cars and garages were a natural pair and hopefully the two blended
together enough to be overlooked.
I remembered not to slam the door shut and took my time approaching the
house.
The kitchen curtains were the kind that covered only the bottom half of the
window. They were still effective, since the uncurtained top half was some
eight feet from the ground. I got around the height problem by going
transparent and floating up.
The lights inside were clinically bright to my night-conditioned eyes. It
took a second to blink things into focus. I got a fast impression of the usual
furnishings plus one guest sitting at the dining table.
Marian Pierce.
She was still in her collegiate costume; draped on the table was a dark
overcoat and her purse. Next to them was an ashtray, and from the nervous way
she was smoking, she’d have to empty it fairly soon. Everything about her
tense, restless posture howled that she was waiting and impatient about it. As
I looked on, she glanced twice at her watch, once to get the time, and again
because she’d forgotten what she’d seen.
I could wait around outside until whomever she was expecting showed, but that
course of inaction was dismissed as quickly as it came to mind. Instead, I
went solid, dropped lightly to the ground, and knocked on the back door.
She probably jumped and froze for a few seconds; it took her about that long
before her quick footsteps approached. A bolt scraped and the door opened a
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 127
crack. I bulled in before she could see me and change her mind.
She backed up until she was stopped by the table and stared as though I were
a new kind of fashion in unexploded bombs. “What are you doing here?” she
demanded.
“Just checking up on things. What about yourself? I thought you were with the
others talking to the cops.”
She grabbed at the conversational opening with visible relief. “They finished
with me. I got bored and took a cab home.”
“So why are you here instead of home?”
“I’m just getting Kitty’s things together.”
“Uh-huh.” I made no effort to sound like I believed her.
She bit back what promised to be a couple dozen sharp replies and decided to
go for sympathy. “All right, if you must know, I’m here because this place
feels less like a prison than the main house.”
“Yeah, the poor-little-rich-girl problem. I know, I sawMy Man Godfrey.”
She ignored my mouth running off with itself and slid to one side until the
table was between us. She tried to make it look like a casual movement and
failed. She was a lousy actress.
The muscles in my neck went stiff when she dug into her coat pocket, but she
only produced a pack of cigarettes and made a business of shaking one out and
lighting it. “Carole Lombard had it easier. She was able to do whatever she
liked.”
“And you’re not?”
“Not without everyone knowing about it.”
“Everyone being your father?”
“Don’t you have some secrets from your family?”
More than you could imagine.
She took a long drag on the cigarette and let the smoke flood upward. “You
said you were checking up on things. What does that mean?”
“Driving around and thinking.” Or not thinking, as the case had been. “I came
up the back way and saw the lights.”
“And found me,” she concluded, with a stunning smile that put my back hairs
up. Our last talk had ended on a decidedly sour note, and she wasn’t the sort
of person to forgive and forget. “Aren’t you the lucky man?”
“That depends on whether or not you can come clean about you and Stan.” My
voice was going thick.
She didn’t blink. She was a very good actress, after all, good enough to give
me a serious twinge of doubt when I least needed it. “Stan?”
“You and Stan,” I repeated.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 128
No reaction. My doubt grew and shifted, like a large animal stuck in a small
cage.
“Escott and I talked to Harry tonight. He told us everything.”
“What about Harry?” she asked. Her tone held the perfect balance of
puzzlement and irritation.
“Only that I had it right earlier. You got him to lie for you.”
“I don’t understand.” Perfect again.
I was wrong and hating it. I needed to blame someone for Doreen, so I picked
out a spoiled brat with bad manners instead of…
When I didn’t reply, she broke away with a puzzled shrug. As she moved, her
eyes swept past her wrist, checking the time again. Whoever was to meet her
was overdue. We could be interrupted any moment.
I noticed her things on the table and gave myself a mental kick. She said
nothing when I picked up her purse and turned it over, scattering its feminine
clutter. The bag itself was still heavy. There was a pocket in the pale silk
lining. From it I drew out a small .22 revolver. In the same pocket was a
black velvet pouch. I shook it open. An explosion of red and silver sparks
spilled into my hand.
Everything turned and returned. It happened that easily and quickly.
The bracelet felt heavy. One person was dead over it, maybe two, God forbid.
The thing weighed a ton. I let it slip softly back into the velvet bag.
She’d almost stopped breathing. Her large eyes darted from it to my face.
I ignored the bracelet and opened the gun’s cylinder. It held five shots. I
pushed the rod. Two bullets and three empty shell casings dropped out, rolling
a little.
That got a reaction, but not the kind you could see. It was as if a totally
different person had dropped in and taken over her body. The change was sudden
and complete; what was so frightening about it was that she stilllookedthe
same.
The floor seemed to swell under my feet, as though I were on a boat and the
sea beneath it were fretful from an oncoming storm.
The doubt in me vanished forever.
I was staring at a killer.
Chapter Ten
“YOU BITCH,” I said, my voice low and gentle.
Her chin jerked. “I don’t know—”
“Youbitch.” And this time it cracked and cut like a whip.
She whirled and ran from the kitchen, trying to reach the front door. I went
right through the table and caught up with her in the entry parlor. When my
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 129
arm snaked around her waist she began screaming. I smothered it off with one
hand. She kicked and scratched. A lamp crashed over, followed by the spindly
table that held it.
Lifting her clear of the floor, I swung her around, dropping her hard into a
chair. Every time she tried to jump up and run, I pushed her back. She got the
idea and stopped fighting.
“Daddy will kill you for this,” she gasped, out of breath from her one-sided
fight.
“Forget him. You’re on your own.”
***
“Can it. ”
She did and fell back in the chair to glare at me.
I wasn’t impressed. “You’re going to tell me the truth or I’ll wring your
neck. Take your pick.”
Something in my face must have caught her attention, because I saw the first
sign of real fear in hers.
“It’s not that hard, Marian. You can start by telling me why you killed
Stan.”
“He tried to—”
“Not the crap you told Harry. The truth.”
Fear won out over anger. “He had my bracelet,” she muttered.
“Blackmail?”
“He had photos… of us. He was going to show them to Daddy at the Christmas
party. He said he’d trade them for the bracelet. So I did.”
“But did he give you the negatives?”
“He said he would.”
“You’re not that dumb.”
“Hesaidso,” she insisted. “I believed him then.”
“Was he going to give them to you last night?”
“Yes, but for cash instead.”
“At the Top Hat Club?”
“Yes.”
“Until you spotted me.”
“He put it off when he thought you were after him. He said to meet him at
Kitty’s and we’d trade there.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 130
“What went wrong?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me.”
“I said I had to have the bracelet back.”
“He must have laughed right in your face.”
“He’d complained before that he couldn’t get as much as he’d expected off the
bracelet. I told him he could make more money if I paid him in cash out of my
allowance.”
“And he wanted both?”
“Yes. He wouldn’t give it back. I thought if I just knocked him out, I could…
so I did. It wasn’t in his pockets. I couldn’t stand it, I—I don’t remember
what happened afterward.” Her eyes were all over the place. Her memory was
fine, she just didn’t want to talk about it. “I was so angry, I had to have
the bracelet back.”
“Why?”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. Why?”
“I owe money to… to…”
“Vaughn Kyler? Is that how he’s connected to all this?”
She nodded fearfully.
“How’d you manage that? More blackmail?”
She swung a fast arm and slapped me. I blocked her next attempt as though
waving off a fly.
“Come on, Marian.”
“The tables,” she hissed.
“What? Gambling?” So she had another little vice to add to her thrill list.
“He let you run up a bill, right?”
“I didn’t think it was that much, but added together…”
“And if you didn’t pay it wasn’t just showing photos to Daddy, it was things
like broken legs and arms.”
“That man with the knife… he said he’d skin my face.”
“So you killed Stan to get the bracelet, only he didn’t have it on him. Did
you try his room?”
“I couldn’t get to it. I had to wait, then I saw you talking with that
red-haired woman outside the hotel. I remembered seeing her there before. Stan
once said that she was a photographer and laughed about it. She looked scared
when she left, so I followed her. I thought—”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 131
“You figured right, she was Stan’s personal photographer. What happened after
you tore the studio apart? Is that when you called in Kyler?”
“I didn’t. His men had been following me.”
“You must have all made quite a parade.”
“I told them that that woman had the bracelet. They said they’d get it.”
“Except Doreen got away. How’d you find her again?”
“She called me. She said she’d trade the bracelet and the negatives for some
cash.”
“And you met in the park.”
“But by then Kitty had come in, the papers were full of the story about…
about Stan and the woman knew everything that had happened.”
“Her name is Doreen,” I said, almost to myself.
“Ihadthe money, but sh-she was angry. She knew that I… I’d… that Stan—”
“Then you shot her.”
***
“No self-defense, no rape stories, you shot her, Marian.”
“Itwasself-defense! She knew about me! She was going to take the money and
tell the police no matter what. I could see that in her face. And the kind of
person she was… the things she did… can you blame me? It’s not as if she
were…she wasn’t anybody important.”
My hands spasmed into fists. A double dose of rage coursed through me like a
jolt of electricity, half-aimed at her and half-turned upon myself. I backed
away from her, fast. If I didn’t, she’d be dead in seconds. To hear her mouth
the same idiot’s reason that I’d used to justify my own excess of appetite…
Not everyone likes a mirror; me, least of all.
In a burst of self-loathing I forced myself to stare at mine. Like all
mirrors, she was unseeing and oblivious to what she reflected. With a terrible
inner lurch, my rage transmuted into cold, sick horror. I looked at my mirror
and understood perfectly all that was there.
“Yeah,” I said at last, sounding lost in my own ears. “I guess she really
wasn’t, not to you.”
The shift startled her, but she took it as a good sign, and was quick to land
on her feet. “You have to help me, Jack. If you help me, I c-can give you
anything you want. I mean that. I can give you anything. Tell me what you want
and I’ll give it to you.”
She’d crawled up from the chair and stood before me, taking my silence for
affirmation. I dimly felt the touch of her hands.
“Stop it, Marian.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 132
“It’s all right. Believe me. It’ll be just fine. I want this, too.”
I caught her hands and held them away from me. The action slowed the soothing
flow of her promises. “But I don’t.”
“Maybe not yet, but I can—”
“No, Marian. It won’t work this time.”
First bafflement as she tried to understand, and then a flash flood of her
own rage when she did. “You can’t.”
“I have to.”
She shook away from me. “You won’t.”
“Get your coat, Marian.”
Her initial response was incoherent, but I got the general idea. “I’m not
helping you,” she concluded. “You’ll have to drag me out.”
“If I have to.”
“No one will believe you, anyway. I won’t tell them anything.”
“You won’t need to once they match the bullets up with the gun.”
“I’ll fight them and so will Daddy. It won’t happen.”
My head drooped. I felt very tired. “Maybe not, but we’re still going in.”
She backed up a step. “If you touch me again I’ll make sure it shows, and you
know what I’ll tell them about it. Daddy will kill you no matter what.”
My eyes fastened onto hers. She broke off and began again, like a
record-player needle skipping over a bad groove.
“No matter what…”
I said her name and swept into her mind like a winter wind. Its cold tug
pulled me along as well, the blast twining us tightly together.
This wasn’t safe. I had to stop before it took us too far—beforeIwent too
far.
Then Doreen’s face seemed to overlay Marian’s. We were standing across from
one another in her studio. Time had slipped backward to repair broken
equipment, to stitch up the torn floor cushions; everything was in its place
again.
Doreen wore a shapeless white hospital gown and walked toward me, arms out
and eyes closed. Her lips parted, silently breathing my name, anticipating my
next touch—the touch that would kill her. The vision was so strong and clear
that once more the red taste of her blood lay like fire upon my tongue.
Her body was solid and warm as she clung to me; I traced the smooth, taut
skin of her neck. To be linked to this woman, to any woman, to take until
nothing remained of them… The mere sound of the blood in their veins was
enough to seduce me—a single scarlet drop of it enough to damn me.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 133
I kissed and kissed deeply, savoring the beautiful taste of that damnation.
It flattened and dispersed and ultimately vanished, leaving behind the soaring
desire for more.
She was laughing. Harsh and low, it kept time with her heartbeat.
What to do when she died?
What to do later, when the hunger returned?
A single drop was not enough for thehunger.
Laughter—silent now.
Heartbeat—fading.
Gone.
A dead weight lay in my arms and upon my soul.
I let her fall and stared at the wreckage. The hunger would return. It would
always be there, ready to tear me apart, destroying others as it fed. An ocean
of blood could not fulfill that insistent want. It would never be satisfied.
She was the first. Shehadto be the last.
“No,” I murmured. “No more.”
It could be controlled if I remembered to control myself. To do that, I had
to close off this door forever and walk away.
The fire abruptly died and cooled. The ashes were bitter and dry but felt
clean. Maybe I was damned myself, but I would drag no others down with me.
Marian’s face jumped back into sharp focus. Her throat was unmarked, her eyes
sharp and alert. Nothing had happened, at least not to her. We’d been under
for only a few seconds, but time in a dream may be stretched to infinity’s
edge. I felt as though I’d been there and back again.
Dreams were not lost to me, after all, nor were the nightmares. They were
somehow linked to the hypnosis. I’d driven two men insane and all but killed
Doreen because of it. But no more. The door was shut, and I was walking away.
Marian’s expression changed to a curious mix of fearful hope and suppressed
excitement. She was looking not at me, but beyond me. The weight of my own
waking dragged heavily; the dream memory of a false past left my mind too
sluggish to react to the shifting situations of the present.
When I turned, I turned slowly, which was just as well. A sudden movement
would have set him off.
Hodge was in the room and held his gun level with my stomach. Marian’s
overdue guest had arrived at last.
“You’re gonna die, you shit,” he told me. His voice shook from sheer joy at
the idea.
I said nothing and didn’t move. Marian was behind but well to one side of me,
fairly safe. I could trust him to hit a target six feet away. He could kill me
if he liked. Others had tried. I felt oddly calm about the whole business;
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 134
must have been leftover shock from the dream.
“You hear me?”
He’d come for the bracelet. Once Marian had found a little time to herself
she’d let Kyler know she was ready to pay off her debt. It was a convenient
payment since it also got rid of a telling piece of evidence against her.
“It’s in the kitchen,” I said. “In a black bag on the table.”
The lawyers could still make a case without it. Once the story hit the
papers, though, Kyler might find the thing too hot to even break down to
individual stones.
But Hodge didn’t know what I was talking about. He was so wound up over me
that he wasn’t listening. His face was fever bright and slick with thin sweat.
He was probably still feeling the aftereffects of my last punch. Maybe that
was what had delayed his arrival.
Marian was moving, but I didn’t look at her. It was best to keep Hodge’s full
attention on me.
“The bracelet’s in the kitchen,” I explained.
“You’re dead.”
“Kyler wants the bracelet, not me.”
A chuckle twitched out of him. Kyler had nothing to do with this; Hodge was
working on his own initiative. He raised the gun a little, just to dispel any
doubts.
“He said I had until tomorrow, Hodge. Do you want to cross him on that?”
“Kyler ain’t gonna find out.”
“You don’t want to take that chance.”
Another twitch, this time without any humor behind it. He was thinking hard.
I left him to it and wondered about Marian. I couldn’t see her out of the
corner of my eye anymore.
Hodge made his decision. He was going to chance things. The hard question for
him now was where to put the bullet. A grin split his face up as he picked a
target and lowered his aim. Considering that last punch, he was not only going
to even the score between us, but permanently top it. I was awake now and
ready. The timing involved for my vanishing would be close, but once he pulled
the trigger, he was in for the surprise of his life. I’d worry about
explanations later.
A crack and my head jerks forward.
Teeth rattle.
Darkness and light mix behind my eyes, canceling one another.
Knees strike the floor.
Arm hits something and twists out.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 135
Face barks against the rough pile of the rug.
A spine-cracking thud.
This was wrong. It wasn’t the quick, sharp pain of a bullet. It was far more
deadly.
Another thud.
I try to crawl away from the agony.
Can’t move.
God, my head.
Hodge yells something.
She keeps hitting me. Marian. With each strike, she gasps out some wordless
sound. It’s ugly, full of hatred and perhaps a lifetime of frustration.
I try to vanish.
Nothing. The pain is too much. I’m paralyzed from it.
Wood. She’s using wood.
She’s not stopping.
She won’t stop until I’m dead.
Dead like Stan. She’d grabbed up a knife and struck out at him, venting God
knows what fury onto his inert body when she couldn’t get her way.
Dead.
Others had tried to kill me before.
Maybe this time would finally…
Finally…
“You crazy bitch!”
Hodge’s voice. He seemed annoyed. I wasn’t overly concerned. Marian’s
response was mumbled. “Yeah, he’s dead, so lay off.”
Bless you, my son. After that, pain distorted their voices past the point of
understanding, and I drifted out of the conversation. I lay flat on my stomach
with one arm awkwardly turned and the side of my face mashed against the rug.
My left eye was partially open to a panoramic view of dark blue pile and a low
slice of wall. Saliva oozed from my sagging mouth, making a wet place under my
chin.
I’d had worse, but not recently, and past survivals give no comfort to
current pains. For the time being all I could do was lie dormant until my
nervous system decided to pull itself together. Too bad that Hodge had missed
his chance at me; hit or miss, a metal bullet was nothing compared to wood. No
wonder it was so popular for dispatching vampires.
Something dropped into my field of view with a clatter. I eventually
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 136
identified it as the small table we’d knocked over earlier—Marian’s improvised
murder weapon, now discarded. It had looked so fragile then, not the son of
thing I’d choose for such a job. Who’d have thought—
Shut up, you’re babbling.
The better to distract me from the pain, my dear. Christ, it felt like an
elephant had used my skull for a batting practice.
“Get ready to go,” said Hodge.
“Why?”
“Because the boss wants to see you.”
“I can’t leave. Daddy and the others will be coming back.”
“And you want to wait here with the body?”
“Then get rid of it.”
It. I’d been reduced to being anit. Coming from her, quite understandable.
“I don’t work that way, honey.”
“But I can pay you. I’ve got some money with me. It’s yours if you help me.”
Hodge coughed out a brief, shaken laugh. “Yeah, that’s how it all works for
you rich bitches. Wave some money and get someone else to clean up your
garbage.”
“Will you do it?”
He took his time answering and there was an edge to his voice when he did.
“I’ll do it. Now, get your coat.”
“Where are we going?”
“Place by the river. Wrap up good, honey, it’s cold out there.”
“I’ll have to be back soon.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His tone was preoccupied. He was busy figuring out
just what to do with me. I expected to be dragged to the trunk of his car,
perhaps to wind up in the same spot as Willy Domax and Doolie Sanderson. Kyler
probably had a regular assembly-line process for getting rid of troublemakers.
Hopefully, it would take time, and by then I’d be in better shape to handle
things. Hodge’s big surprise would be only a little delayed.
As for Marian… she stirred up an army of black thoughts and feelings. Most of
them were beyond voice, but not action. God help us both when I saw her again.
If I ever moved again.
Marian was in the kitchen; her heels clacked on the linoleum.
Hodge prowled the living room. Something thumped and hissed. Marian returned,
attracted by the noise.
“What are you—oh, my God, what are youdoing!”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 137
“Cleaning up the garbage. Now let’s get out.”
She started to make another objection, but he must have grabbed her to hustle
her along. They went out through the kitchen, not bothering to shut the back
door.
Without them for distraction, the pain in the back of my skull blossomed. I
tried once more to crawl away from it, but my body was still frozen in place.
Vanishing was impossible, negated by the use of wood. Damn it, why couldn’t
she have hit me with the lamp?
The damage must have affected my ears; something like radio static filled the
air. I should have been able to hear their car as it drove away, though if
Hodge was using that Caddy with the smooth motor… I hadn’t heard him arrive,
but then I’d been occupied with other things.
What had he meant by “cleaning up the garbage”?
Nothing good; even Marian hadn’t liked it.
After a solid minute of effort, I managed to blink one eye. The right one
that lay hard against the rug remained shut. I must have looked like Charlie
McCarthy on a bad day.
There was a dry, dusty tang in the air. Well, that’s what happens when you
fall on a rug with your mouth hanging open. I spent another minute messily
trying to work it shut.
Stick to blinking, it’s easier.
A few years ago, I’d once suffered the all-time mother of hangovers. Even if
I’d blanked out the drunken journey, the memory of arrival was still
uncomfortably clear. Just short of my bed, I’d collapsed on the floor,
spending an oblivious night on its hard, cold surface. In the morning, my
joints were stiff and unforgiving, but it turned out to be a good thing not to
have made it totted, after all. When I woke up, my stomach’s reaction to the
excess abuse was instantaneous and awful. In acute physical agony, since my
head felt like a popped balloon, I’d cleaned it up myself, too embarrassed to
call the janitor.
The pain had been just as terrible then, but unlike tonight’s fiasco,
self-inflicted. Oh, for the good old days when I was too smart to hook up with
a private detective.
Agent, Escott’s voice automatically corrected in my mind.
This wasn’t tracing stolen goods to be returned in triumph to the owner, it
was destroying lives. McAlister dead, Doreen… maybe, and eventually, Marian.
Part of me was ready to kill her for doing this to me. I wasn’t proud of that
desire, but it was reassuringly human. No seductive draining of her blood
figured in my mind, though. It would be up close and personal, a toss-up
between strangulation or breaking her neck.
Babbling.
The radio static was louder.
I tried moving my fingers next. They were farther from my damaged skull.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 138
Maybe the nerves there hadn’t heard the news, like a snake that keeps
wriggling after the head is chopped off.
Queasy thought.
They felt like overstuffed sausages and were about as deft, but they faintly
responded. As if in echo, my toes flexed a little. There was hope for me yet.
Another month or so and I’d be tap-dancing on flagpoles. I’d embrace it as my
new vocation. It probably paid better than writing and was safer than being
assistant to a private agent.
Where the hell was Escott, anyway? Surely he’d have taken care of Summers by
this time, unless there’d been trouble at the hospital. If something had
happened to Doreen, he might be reluctant to deliver the news.
The static had developed into an unmistakable crackling.
Fire.
Mind-numbing panic washed over me for a few uncontrolled seconds before
reason took hold. Therewasa fire, but in the fireplace. It had been burning
earlier, all during that interview with Kitty, and when Marian had returned,
she’d merely—
Fire.
As if in confirmation, the electricity failed and the lights went out except
for a soft glow reflecting off the slice of wall. My one working eyelid
blinked at it stupidly.
They’d left me to burn to death.
Not to death, my mind continued idiotically, they thought you were already
dead.
Panic on top of panic as I tried to crawl out. A wave of heat washed over the
top of my head and down my body. I was pointed toward the living room, the
direction I had to go to get to the door serving the kitchen. Behind me was
the front door, a shorter distance, but it was closed and perhaps even locked.
Hodge and Marian had left the one to the kitchen open. I had a wonderful
vision of myself slithering through it, tumbling to cool safety.
It was countered with harsh memories of fires I’d covered for the paper inNew
York : bodies burned black, limbs stiffened into unlikely poses of death.
Would my brain bum up as well, or would it continue to live on, trapped and
insane inside a charred, grinning wreck?
My feet flinched but could not push me forward; my fingers grasped but had no
strength.
Vanish. Try tovanish.
Smoke flooded the room, dimming the firelight. Would anyone from the main
house have noticed by now?
The desperation to wink out and swirl away was strong enough to fool me into
thinking I’d actually done it. I felt the familiar disorientation take hold;
the heated air of the room would lift me to the ceiling, then with a swift
mental push I’d melt through it into the open air…
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 139
Illusion. I might as well have been welded to the floor.
The place was oven hot and loud. I’d forgotten how deafening a fire could be.
Would anyone hear my screams? By the time the flames reached me, I would,
indeed, be screaming.
My legs trembled. If I could get my arms under me—my toes caught on the rug,
slipped, and caught again.
Move.
My arms spasmed, pushing me forward toward… oh, God, I can’t go in there.
I was just able to raise my head briefly, long enough to see what hell looked
like. Shifting, treacherous gleams of red, orange, and yellow-white danced
along the living-room walls. The curtains were thick with flames; spinning
clouds of smoke raced from them to the ceiling, filling the house. A forgotten
magazine on the floor ignited and burned, the pages curling open one by one as
though an invisible hand were swiftly turning them.
Half cursing, half sobbing, I urged my inert body to move before it was too
late while begging for more time to recover. Another minute. Just one more
minute and I could crawl. Please, God, give me that much.
I flopped and twisted, trying to roll away. The kitchen exit was blocked by
the growing fire and my own limitations. I’d have to try for the front door
and hope it wasn’t locked.
Not enough time. The edge of the rug I lay upon was already being eaten away.
The whole thing would soon catch and go up, enveloping my clothes… me…
If I could scream, I could move. Don’t waste the energy on anything else.
Coordination was too slow to match my level of terror. I got a water-weak
elbow under me and pushed. It slewed me to the right. The worst part was
trying to lift my head; the neck muscles weren’t up to holding it for more
than a second or two. It dragged on the floor like an anchor.
Glass shattered somewhere, probably from the heat. I didn’t really care; I
was too busy.
Christ, the door was miles away. Maybe if I rolled toward it…
I writhed, thinking of that damned headless snake again.
Another glassy crash.
Air rushed in, feeding the fire.
Someone shouted. My name, I thought, but I couldn’t tell. My imagination had
fooled me before.
More air. A sea of it rolled in; smoke dense enough to cut rolled out.
My name.
Someone coughing.
My name.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 140
Blinded by the smoke, he blundered into me. Frantic hands clawed, randomly
seized one arm, and tugged. I pushed in the same direction. Inelegant, but it
worked. He cursed and coughed and damn near tore my arm from its socket. We
made progress. The door loomed close, gloriously close. My head thumped
against the threshold, reminding me of the original injury, but I didn’t care
anymore. We were out of the furnace. One last pull and he dragged me clear of
the porch and onto the hard ground.
Inexplicably, he began beating on my ankles with his hat. I understood why
when a whole new kind of pain shot up from them and blasted through the top of
my skull. Stung to movement, my legs kicked and flailed and generally
interfered with his efforts. In spite of this, he managed to smother the
flames before they got out of hand.
He dropped next to me, doubled over with hoarse coughing.
God looks after fools, after all. Thanks, Boss.
“Are you talking to me?” Escott wheezed, his eyes streaming and red from the
smoke.
I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud. “Not exactly.”
“Good God, what happened to you?”
Having no need to breathe regularly, I hadn’t taken in the smoke and was
better able to talk, only I didn’t feel like doing much. “I was dumb enough to
turn my back on Marian.”
“Is she in there?” He made a half start toward the burning house.
“No,” I said quickly, waving him down. “Got away.”
“Where?”
Now was not the time for explanations. We had to be somewhere else and fast.
“We gotta get outta here, Charles. Are you able to walk?”
“Are you?”
Details, details. “How far?”
He rubbed at his eyes and shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was coughing
or laughing. “Hang about.”
I wasn’t in any condition to do much else. He staggered away, returning a
short age later to improvise a new driveway over the grounds with his Nash. He
parked a narrow yard from where I lay and opened the passenger door. After
that, it was a simple matter of hoisting me inside.
“The Stockyards?” he asked, sliding behind the wheel. First aid for me always
meant a long, healing drink.
“The river.”
Which is full of water, he seemed to be saying.Not your preferred draft, old
man.
“Just get us moving, Charles. I’ll tell you about it.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 141
He coughed again, but shifted gears and hauled the wheel around. As we passed
the guest-house garage, I nearly choked on a suppressed growl of outrage.
“That screw-faced son of a bitch stole my car!” A ridiculous reaction,
considering what we’d both just been through, but it was one way of draining
off some of the built-up stress.
“Which screw-faced son of a bitch?” he asked, managing to sound dignified
despite his cough.
“Hodge. He came here tonight. When he left with Marian, they must have taken
my car.”
His face was one big question mark.
Right. I owed him—among many other things now—an explanation, or at least
part of one. In a few short sentences I covered the disaster, omitting only
the details of what happened when I tried to hypnotize Marian. It left a
noticeable gap open to questioning, and Escott jumped straight into the middle
of it.
“How on earth was Hodge able to sneak up on you?”
I shrugged, as though uncertain myself, and hoped that it looked convincing.
“I was preoccupied with Marian, with getting her to talk.”
He made a noise indicating that he understood and I belatedly realized that
he thought I was referring to a hypnotic question-and-answer session. I let
the misinterpretation stand. For the moment, it was better than the truth.
“She knew that I knew too much and jumped the gun—Hodge’s gun, to be exact—by
lambasting me with that table,” I continued. “She couldn’t have been listening
to him. She went crazy like she did with McAlister. Hodge stopped her. I think
it shook him up to see her like that.”
“I daresay. Perhaps he even prevented her from inflicting more serious damage
than she did.”
“Or he was mad that she cheated him of the satisfaction of doing it himself.
It would have been so much simpler if she’d just waited and let him try to
shoot me.”
“Most unfortunate that she did not. Are you better? You sound better.”
I opened and closed my hands, evidence of my physical recovery. My singed
legshurt, but I’d soon be able to take care of them. The emotions would take
longer, perhaps a lifetime, even by my changed standards. “I’m getting control
again. It takes a little time and I didn’t have any before. How’d you know I
was there?”
“I didn’t, nor did I look for you since I did not see your car. That may have
been why Hodge stole it. As for why he set fire to the place…”
“To confuse and distract, like stirring an anthill with a stick. It leaves
the ants running all over trying to put stuff back in order, and in the
meantime they forget about the stick.”
“Or its possible return.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 142
“Okay, so if you weren’t looking for me, then how… ?”
“I heard you,” he said in a muted tone that made me feel quiet as well. My
throat wasn’t aching because of the smoke.
“Then I saw you through the front window, which I had to break to open the
door. I think you’re aware of the rest.”
“Thanks for pulling me out, Charles.”
Shows of gratitude always made him uncomfortable. “Well, good help is hard to
come by,” he demurred. “I’ve but one request.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t do that again.”
I started to make a light reply, then for the first time noticed how tightly
he gripped the steering wheel. His eyelids were jumping around and I could
almost feel the nervous energy coming off him. He was putting up a calm front,
but it was plain to me that I’d thoroughly scared the shit out of him.
“Scout’s honor,” I said humbly.
He nodded once, to close the subject, and switched to a new one. “You said
the river. Do you think she’s getting away via the facilities offered by the
IFT warehouse?”
“That’s my best guess. If she’s not there, then I don’t know where she’ll be.
And it’s not a getaway or she wouldn’t have questioned him. All she planned to
do was to turn over the bracelet, then I showed up and threw a monkey wrench
into the works. Hodge had orders to take her out. Since she didn’t know what
they’d done to Harry, she was just stupid enough to go with him.”
“So Kyler could sort her out about shooting Doreen?”
“Yeah, only she might not survive the experience.”
“Would he go so far?”
“What do you think?”
For an answer, Escott stepped on the gas.
Chapter Eleven
THOUGH IT HAD been a solid and busy six months since his last visit to
International Freshwater Transport’s warehouse, Escott’s memory needed no
prodding on how to get there. He picked out the fastest possible route,
pausing only to chafe at stop signals. At this hour most of the intersections
were empty, so the wait was doubly hard, but he wasn’t about to attract
attention by running through them. A curious cop was the last thing we wanted.
I was having trouble deciding if the tightness in my gut was due to Marian’s
assault or the situation we were walking into. Maybe it was a bit of both. Now
that I had time to rest and take inventory, more aches stood up to be counted,
especially along my spine. My lower legs and head were still the worst; I’d
have to tend to them before anything else.
Eyes shut to concentrate, I tried to vanish. Except for a faint shiver
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 143
running over my skin, nothing happened. My head throbbed in protest.
Damned wood.
I waited a few more blocks and tried again, failed, and waited some more.
Each attempt got me farther down the line; on the fourth try, I finally melted
away into the air.
Escott made a choking sound and the car swerved. It startled me back into
solidity.
“What’s going on?” I grabbed the arm rest for balance.
“Would you mind giving a fellow a little warning before you launch into that
bloody Cheshire cat routine of yours?” he complained, looking very put out.
He usually held things in, but events were also eating him up from the
inside. I couldn’t blame him for letting it show for once. “Sorry. I have to
do it again. Consider yourself warned.”
He grunted and kept his eyes on the road.
I faded into a wonderfully numbing nothingness better than any salve, and
stayed there. The only problem was trying to hover in one spot: I tended to
keep moving forward whenever the car braked. The windshield glass and metal
body of the car helped to confine me inside; the trick was remembering to hold
in place on my end of the seat. It wouldn’t do to distract Escott further by
bumping into him with an abrupt rush of cold.
“We’re here,” he announced, his voice made distant by my invisibility.
I was reluctant to return, but when I did, things didn’t hurt nearly so much.
The skin on my legs had stopped burning and my head felt only slightly tender.
A day’s rest, a stop at the Stockyards, and I’d be…
“They’re not exactly secretive, are they?” he commented, drawing my attention
to the front of the warehouse.
“The gang’s all here,” I agreed.
Parked along the street were two identical Caddies and my Buick. In this drab
neighborhood they stuck out like birthday cakes at a funeral. A light was on
in the warehouse office, the rest of the windows were dark. If my heart had
still been working, it’d have been trying to thump its way out of my chest.
“Anything wrong?”
I nodded. “Not twenty minutes ago I wanted to kill her; now I’m here to play
Douglas Fairbanks and rush to her rescue.”
“After what you’ve been through, your reluctance is understandable.” Escott
had one hell of a gift for understatement.
“It’s more than reluctance. I’m ready to say to hell with it and leave her
there.”
“And will you?”
That question demanded more thought than I had time to give it. “I want to,
but if I stay, then you’ll go in instead, won’t you?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 144
He said nothing, though for him it made for an eloquent speech. He’d go, all
right, with or without me, and I wasn’t about to let him do anything so crazy.
I laughed once, and not because I was happy, then started shrugging out of my
overcoat. Escott’s borrowed suit coat went, too. The cold wouldn’t bother me
for some time yet, and I wanted to be free to move. I tore off my rumpled tie
and tossed it on the pile.
“Are you sure you’re in shape for this?” he asked.
“Why? What do I look like? No, don’t answer that. Let’s just say that I’m in
better shape than they think I am. You got a gun?”
“Yes.” In addition to the stolen Webley-Fosbury, he owned a much smaller
snub-nosed Colt revolver, which he started to draw from his coat pocket.
“Hang on to it for yourself,” I told him. “If any rats get past me, you’ll
need it.”
He saw the logic and kept the gun. “Good hunting.”
“Break a leg.”
We got out at the same time, swinging the doors shut, but not letting them
latch. The plan was for me to go in first and scout around for the best
opportunity to get Marian out. If it didn’t exist, then I’d have to make one.
Escott was to back me up if it became necessary. Knowing how crazy Kyler and
his stooges got when crossed, I was going to be damned careful.
Though they looked deserted, I checked each of the cars to make certain of
the fact. Escott followed and we ended up crouched in the same patch of shadow
cast by one of the Caddies.
“I’d like to cut off their lines of retreat,” he whispered.
“As long as it’s quiet.”
He flashed a rare smile or a rictus grin, I couldn’t really tell, and eased
open the driver’s door. He felt under the dashboard a moment and something
snapped in his hand. He darted to the other Caddy, performed the same
operation, and returned. “That should put them in the shop for a while,” he
said.
“What about my car?”
“I’m hoping we may simply drive it out. Have you the keys?”
“Still in my pocket. Hodge must have hot-wired it.”
Ideally, we wanted a clean getaway without any legal fuss. Escott was ready
to use his gun, but it’d be better for us if he didn’t. It was up to me to
make sure things stayed quiet.
I crept up to the front door of the warehouse, feeling rather vulnerable in
the dim light thrown out by its overhead bulb. I listened for some time, my
ear pressed to the crack between the door and jamb and heard nothing.
Shrugging a negative back at Escott, I pointed to myself and then toward the
door. He gave me a thumbs-up in acknowledgment, turned gray, and ceased to
exist.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 145
Filtering through the same narrow crack was easy enough, then I made a quick
sweep of the small room. It was empty and hadn’t changed much since my last
visit, as I discovered after materializing. An extra layer of grime and an oil
heater had been added, but nothing more interesting. The second door leading
into the warehouse proper was shut. I listened there for a time and eventually
caught the faint sound of voices. One of them seemed to be Hodge’s, but I
wasn’t sure.
I quietly unlocked the front door for Escott, then slipped through the inner
door myself. I stayed invisible and felt my way around to what I hoped was a
concealed corner and faded in slowly, eyes wide, and ears straining.
The place was vast and dark and the high ceiling caused the voices to echo
deceptively, though I eventually pinned down their direction. I took my time
approaching, half of it in a semitransparent state to avoid making sound
myself. This lasted until I got a third of the way into the warehouse and ran
into a familiar obstacle. The place was built well out over the river to
expedite the transfer of goods to and from cargo ships. It was fine for the
ships, but lousy for me with my inherent problem with running water. I’d be
able to vanish easily enough; coming back again was the hard part. To do that,
I had to be over land.
I went solid and tiptoed forward, then had to dig my heels in and really
work. The resistance was like trying to push a long, heavy curtain back from
the bottom, hard to get started and reluctant to keep moving. Once I was well
out over the river I was all right, but as they say, the first step’s a lulu.
At least now my hearing wouldn’t be handicapped.
They were at the far end of the long line of crates, using only a single work
light, the kind with a handle and cord at one end and a hook on the other.
They’d hung it awkwardly onto the lip of an open crate. It made a harsh fan of
localized glare; odds were, they’d be fairly night blind outside of it. I
moved closer.
Chaven was busy digging through the crate; stray drifts of excelsior littered
the floor around him. He strained and lifted out a hunk of new-looking metal.
I didn’t know what it was beyond the fact that it looked like the internal
part of a larger machine and that it was obviously heavy. He tossed it
ponderously onto the floor with other, similar parts. The light on the crate
shook as he worked. Shadows jostled one another.
“That enough?” he asked, straightening.
Kyler stood just behind the light and was difficult to see. “More.”
“But that’s over a hundred pounds.”
“More. Those things get buoyant. I’m not risking a floater.”
“Have a heart, my back’s killin’ me.” But Chaven began digging again, pulling
out piece after piece.
In the floor a couple of yards behind him gaped a trapdoor into darkness.
Hodge sat on its edge, his legs resting on steps going down under the
warehouse. I heard and smelled water.
“You can help,” Chaven said to him.
“I’ve done my part.” Hodge patted the spot under his left arm where his gun
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 146
was holstered. I went very still and cold.
“If you want to stay here all night that’s your business. There, that’s two
hundred pounds at least. Okay?”
“Take it down,” said Kyler.
“Huh.” Chaven bent, picked up a part in each hand, and walked up to Hodge.
Hodge obligingly moved over to give him better access to the steps. Chaven
grunted “huh” again and descended. He was gone for about two minutes, then
returned empty-handed to take away two more parts.
I slipped back the way I came and made a fast and hopefully quiet round of
the stacks. When I moved toward the light once more, I was behind Kyler, all
but looking over his shoulder. The work light wasn’t in my eyes so much from
this angle. Now I could see Marian, a dark form in her long coat.
She wasn’t moving. She lay on her side, huddled compactly at the foot of a
tall packing case. It was the same one they’d hacked me up against only last
night. A ball of ice formed down in my stomach and rolled a little. Closing my
eyes didn’t help. She was still there when I opened them.
Hardly aware of it, I walked up to Kyler and gave him a solid punch in the
kidney, one that Escott could appreciate. He dropped almost too fast for me to
catch him, but I managed and held him up in front of me.
Hodge was alert enough to notice and react. He drew his gun and jumped to his
feet, trying to squint past the light to his boss.
Kyler almost jabbed my gut with his elbow, but he didn’t have enough force or
follow through. In return, I slapped the side of his head. Once was all that
was needed, then he had to have my full support to stand.
“Boss?” Hodge skirted the trapdoor. He saw me, or part of me. The light was
still in his eyes, but he had enough of a target to aim at. He held the gun
ready.
I made sure Kyler was entirely in his way. “Put it up, Hodge, not unless you
think you can shoot through your boss.”
“Who… ?”
“Besides, he said I had until tomorrow… remember?”
The stunned look on his face indicated that he did. “You go to hell,” he
said, but there was a crack in his voice. He was plenty scared.
“Not this time.”
I pushed Kyler ahead of me. He tried to fight, but I had a solid grip on his
arms and was practically holding himoffthe floor. Hodge took a better aim at
me but Kyler stopped him.
“Get behind him, you jerk! Shoot him from cover!”
Hodge’s reflexes were good. Two fast steps, and he was swallowed up in the
shadows between the stacks. I dragged Kyler out of the fan of light and shook
him the way a kid shakes a rag doll. He was too dazed to resist as I went
through his pockets. Right away I found his gun and pulled it. I didn’t have
enough hands to use it and let it drop to the floor. In his inside pocket with
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 147
his wallet was the black velvet bag. It still seemed to weigh a ton.
He recovered quickly and just enough to be inconvenient. I shoved the
bracelet away and threw him toward the trapdoor. Arms flailing, he tumbled
right into it with a brief yell. Another yell in another voice matched him for
surprise and pain. Chaven must have been coming up the stairs when Kyler fell
through onto him. They made a lot more noise rolling and crashing all the way
to the bottom, and then they stopped making noise altogether.
I forgot them when Hodge fired his first shot at me. I was nearly deafened by
the roar, but felt nothing. Seeing me come back from the dead must have left
him with a bad case of the shakes. So much the better, since I wasn’t ready to
vanish just yet.
Gray smoke from the gun hung in the motionless air, giving away his hiding
place. I went low and scuttled over to Marian. He fired again, missing
completely.
“Boss? Chaven? You okay?” He sounded very worried. I didn’t think it was for
their skins, but for his own. Armed or not, he didn’t want to face me by
himself.
Neither of us heard an answer from the trap.
I turned to Marian, checking for a pulse, but I was way too late. It was sad
to say, but the only honest regret I felt was for her father.
“This is your work, Hodge,” I heard myself shouting. The echoes filled the
place, chasing each other into nothing.
“I did what I was told,” he shouted back.
“Kyler gets his turn later.”
Shot.
He’d moved. The bullet creased air next to my left ear and tore into the case
behind me.
Shot.
But by that time I was moving as well and dropped flat.
Shot.
One in Marian’s heart and five embedded in the crates. If he carried a round
ready in the chamber, it meant he had at least two more bullets left, maybe a
lot more if he had a spare magazine. Not that it mattered much to either of us
in the long run. He could be packing a Thompson with a full drum and it
wouldn’t help him. But I couldn’t afford to let myself be hit any more than a
normal man could, not while I was over water.
No shot. He must have realized he was running short. Good. I didn’t want to
have to remind him and possibly tip my own hand.
Silence, except for his breathing, then came a stealthy step and a shifting
of cloth. He was on the other side of the stack from me and creeping forward.
He stopped for a long time to listen and perhaps puzzle out why I’d left
Kyler’s gun behind. I hadn’t thought of it at the time, but now I could see
that it was turning into an excellent piece of bait.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 148
At the far end of the warehouse a door creaked open.
That had to be Escott, drawn in by the shooting.
Hodge jumped into the open, intent on Kyler’s gun. I broke away from the
stack and went after him.
He heard me charging up, whirled, and got off one more shot.
It went wild. Before he could trigger another, I tackled him, and we fell
flat.
His head thumped against the floor and the whites of his eyes showed for a
few seconds. He gagged, trying to recover his lost breath. He still had the
gun, though, and enough presence of mind left not to use it until it could do
him some good.
We were matched for weight, but I had him on raw strength and was able to
immobilize him easily enough. His reaction was frustration, not surprise, as
he kept struggling and got absolutely and utterly nowhere. I had one hand
holding fast onto his gun arm. It’d be a simple matter to crush his wrist…
Instead, I bent his hand around, forcing it in the direction I wanted. When
he realized what I was doing, he thrashed and yelled, throwing all his
desperate energy into a last scrabbling fight for life.
The gun was at half cock and as I found out when I pressed my finger on top
of his trigger finger, had one round left. The sound was so loud I didn’t
really hear it, the muzzle flash blinded, the smoke burned.
I didn’t know which I’d remember the longest: Hodge’s terrified shriek, or
the look on his face as it happened.
Limbs twitching and hands shaking, I stood away from him and swallowed back
the laughter that surged up like a rush of bile in my throat. It helped when I
turned my back to him. The exit wound was very bad and where most of the
bloodsmell came from. Despite the evident and total finality of that wound, he
still looked alive.
I will not regret this. If I had to, I’d do it again.
A few steps and I was leaning against a crate, hiding my eyes from it all.
The laughter hung heavily in the back of my throat, threatening to either
choke me or turn into a sob. It wasn’t finished; more work remained to be
done. There was yet one more suicide to arrange, maybe two.
First I groaned in protest, then, as though a switch had been thrown,
everything shut down at once. The laughter died to nothing; the sickness
forming in my gut faded away. I looked around with new eyes and found corners
to be just a little sharper than they’d been before, and colors were brighter.
The light from the lamp was both harsh and beautiful. I’d turned crazy cold—a
mechanical man about to perform an unpleasant but necessary job. This wasn’t
vengeance—no more than a butcher is vengeful against the animal he carves up.
I drew a long breath and let it filter slowly out as I walked past Marian and
Hodge and closed my hand over Kyler’s gun.
“Jack?”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 149
He’d come up softly. I was too wrapped in my own silent hell to have noticed
his approach but was not surprised to see him. Escott was my friend and I
could trust him to be sensible in an emergency. He saw Marian right away and
went to her and learned what I had learned. He shook his head and said
something, but I didn’t quite catch it. Then he turned around and saw the rest
of the place.
He stared at Hodge’s body lying at the narrow end of a spray of blood and
brains. The gun was loose in his hand now, but still pressed to his temple.
That was wrong. I had to change the position slightly, to pull his hand back a
bit to allow for the recoil of the shot.
“I’m taking care of it,” I told Escott. “Don’t worry about anything.” In my
own ears I sounded extraordinarily calm, as though I were doing a household
chore for him.
Like taking out the garbage.
Now he stared at me; I nodded back reassuringly and stooped to adjust Hodge’s
gun and arm. There, that looked more natural.
“We have to leave, Jack.” Escott did his best to match my calmness, but I
knew better. His heart was racing fit to burst. My own was, or rather, my own
wasn’t…
Never mind that.
I smiled at him. “In a minute. This won’t take long.”
Cheerful. Almost. That’s what it sounded like. I wasn’t feeling at all
cheerful, but then I wasn’t feeling, period.
I walked to the trapdoor and started down the stairs.
Below the reinforced flooring of the warehouse were the dozens of thick
cement pillars that supported it. They marched away in even rows in every
direction, their tops wrapped in dirty shadow, their bases sunk deep in the
water. The river had left them stained and stinking. The stairs led to a broad
wooden landing that rose and fell with the lap of water. Tied next to it was a
sleek inboard; on its deck sat an open crate. It didn’t take much genius work
to figure out where Chaven had put the heavy machine parts. Once the lid was
nailed down, they had only to take a quiet cruise out to deep water and
Marian’s body would disappear forever.
The closer I got to the water, the higher my back hairs rose. For a few
seconds I had to fight to stay solid, so overwhelming was the instinctual urge
to vanish and draw away to the safety of land.
Kyler and Chaven were still sprawled on the landing. Chaven was groggy but
trying to pull himself together. Kyler bled from a cut over one eye and was
rumpled all over, almost comic in his disarray. He squinted up at me without
recognition. The light was bad here for human eyes. To him, I’d be a
silhouette against a slightly lighter shadow.
“Hodge?” he asked, doubtful.
“Hodge shot himself.” Not quite true, but details like that didn’t matter
now. “You’re going to shoot yourself as well, Kyler.”
“What the hell… ?” said Chaven.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 150
I raised my hand high so they could see what was in it. “I brought your gun
along to do the job.” Had I been capable of laughter, I might have laughed at
their expressions.
Chaven woke up very fast and clawed inside his coat. I centered Kyler’s gun
on him.
“Jack.” Escott’s voice.
“In a minute,” I called back.
“You’ve no time left to make a proper job of it,” he reasoned. “We have to go
while we can.”
That made a lot of sense, but I hated to leave the work half-done when only
another minute was all I…
Chaven got his gun out and fired. His aim was off because of the darkness and
his own fear. The slug sang through my arm. Negligible damage anywhere else,
sheer disaster here. I dropped Kyler’s gun, staggered back against the rail,
and forgot about everything but the necessity of remaining solid.
Shadows grew lighter, threatening to turn gray and vanish altogether. My hand
was going transparent; I willed it back, ordering it toholdon to the stair
railing, and not to slide through.
“Do you see? Do you see?” Kyler’s voice. What the hell was he talking about?
I flickered back and forth between pain-filled reality and numbing dream.
Escott shouted my name but I couldn’t break my concentration to answer. Kyler
and Chaven were limping away, stumbling into their boat, and I was helpless to
follow. While Kyler fumbled at the ropes, Chaven took aim for a second, more
careful shot. He hit his target, but for him the timing was ill judged,
catching me in a semitransparent phase. The bullet whizzed right through my
chest and smacked into one of the steps.
Before he could fire again, another gun went off. The roar so close above
almost buried me in sound. It was all I could do to just hold on to the flimsy
stair rail. I’d lost sight of everything except the bottomless black water
that seemed to swell closer…
Escott grabbed my shirt collar and hauled me back. Kyler and Chaven swung
into view once more. They were both in the boat now and blue smoke belched
from it as Kyler got the motor started. He was doing all the work; Chaven was
hanging on to the box and not doing much of anything besides cursing.
Kyler gunned the boat and it glided rapidly away from the landing. He held a
straight course between the tall pillars until he was free of them, then
turned onto the river and was gone.
“You had time for another clear shot, Charles,” I said. “Why didn’t you take
them?”
Escott gave no direct answer to my question. “We have to go, Jack.”
The searing heat in my arm dissipated and with it the imminent threat of
vanishing. Still sensitive to the pressure of the water all around, I was
unable to do more than crouch on the stairs. Escott eased past me and
retrieved Kyler’s gun. He slipped on the safety and dropped it in his pocket.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 151
Coming back up, he held his hand out to me.
“Come along, old man. It’s very cold down here or have you even noticed it
yet?”
With his help, I found my feet and we trudged up and emerged from the
trapdoor. He steered me well around the awful tableau framed by the work
light, and we headed toward the distant front door.
“Are the cops coming?” I asked.
“It’s best that we leave before we find out,” he said, not really answering
again. What was the matter with him?
The inner door was open and he left it that way. He did the same thing with
the outside door, leaving it wide. We stopped at his car and he had me put on
my overcoat. As he’d guessed, I hadn’t noticed the cold. I felt nothing at
all.
He took me to my own car and asked if I could drive it. It seemed an odd
question, but I said yes and got in. He told me to go straight home and
promised that he’d be following right behind if I needed anything. I shook my
head, a little puzzled, but strangely touched by his obvious concern.
We drove off quietly, obeying all the speed laws and traffic stops. For me it
was another dream ride like the trip I’d taken earlier over to the Pierce
house. I pulled up to my usual curbside spot in front of Escott’s old
three-story brick house. Escott broke away to park in the narrow garage behind
the building. He reappeared quickly enough to walk with me up the steps and
unlock the door.
The place was warm and, after the fresh outside air, stuffy with the smell of
his favorite pipe tobacco. We shrugged out of our coats; I draped mine on the
hall tree, he put his on a hanger, and then put the hanger on an empty peg.
After that we went into the parlor. I sat in the leather chair by the radio
and noticed my hands for the first time. They were very dirty and smelled all
at once of wood smoke, cordite, and blood. A sickening combination, but I did
not feel sick.
Escott went into the kitchen and dialed a number on the phone. His call was
very short and he’d swapped his English accent for a German one. He gave the
address of the warehouse and in a frightened voice complained of hearing
gunfire, then hung up. He made a brief stop in the dining room before coming
in to sit on the couch opposite. He must have poured half the contents of his
bottle of good brandy into the glass in his hand.
“I wish you could have some as well,” he said. “If anyone needed it…”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, Jack.” His answer was easy and reassuring. After a drink and a minute
for the stuff to work into him, he said, “I expect what you really need is a
very hot bath and some kip time.”
I blinked a little, thinking it over. “That sounds good to me.”
He must have been holding his breath, for he visibly relaxed. “You go on up
and do that, then.”
He seemed anxious for me to go, so I went to my room upstairs and peeled
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 152
slowly out of my clothes as though shedding an old skin. Another layer came
off in the hot water of the tub and yet another as I shaved. When I came
downstairs again, my body felt better, but still strangely detached from my
mind.
He was on the kitchen phone speaking in a low voice with a hushed shock that
was only partly assumed. On the other end of the line it must have sounded
sincere enough.
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that… They do?… Oh, there’s no question about it,
I shall come over immediately. Yes, of course…”
And so on, until he hung up.
“Pierce?” I asked.
He nodded. “Letting me know about the arson on his guest house. He thinks
it’s connected with his case and wants me to look at things. I don’t know when
I’ll be back. Will you be all right?”
Again with the questions. “You want me along?”
“Not this time. Besides, you need the rest.”
Maybe he had a point there. “Does he know about Marian?”
His face grew longer. “Not yet. The police may not have had time to sort it
out yet. Anonymous calls don’t always send them bolting off to an immediate
investigation.”
He left to get his coat. I noticed that he’d tidied the kitchen up from Harry
Summers’s visit. The empty brandy glass stood rinsed and drying with the
others on the sink drain board. He wouldn’t have wasted good brandy and I had
no doubt that he’d properly finished it off, but his manner so far was
stone-cold sober.
“I found this,” I said when he returned to leave by the back door. I drew out
the black velvet bag from my bathrobe pocket and put it on the table.
“Dear me.” He arrested his move to put on his hat and opened the little bag
instead. He studied the bracelet for a while, turning it over and over in his
long fingers. I wondered if it felt as heavy to him as it had to me.
“I thought you’d want to give it back to Pierce.”
He pursed his lips, managing to look thoughtful and horrified all at once.
“No, I couldn’t possibly—not at this point, at any rate.”
“The warehouse, then. Plant it on Marian, where it belongs.”
“We can’t take that chance. As soon as the police get there, they’ll be all
over the place with their notes and cameras. It’d be impossible to smuggle it
in, especially if Blair conducts the investigation.”
“Then mail it to Pierce. We sure as hell can’t hang on to it.”
He balled the thing up in his fist, then poured it into the bag. “For the
moment, we shall do exactly that.” He sounded like a man with an idea, but
wasn’t ready to share it yet. “You keep it for now until I have time to put it
in the safe. It’ll be all right in that vault of yours below stairs.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 153
It’d be just fine, but I didn’t want to have any part of it. I also didn’t
have the energy left to tell him, so I meekly stuffed the bag back in my
pocket.
He locked the back door behind him and soon had the Nash out of the garage
and was gone. The house loomed huge and empty about me. The place must have
been warm enough, but I suppressed a shiver.
Without thinking much about it, I vanished and seeped through the floor to
the walled-off alcove directly below the kitchen. It was so much faster than
using the basement stairs and had the added attraction of taking me out of the
world for a few moments. It was some time before I returned to solidity.
The room was hot and still. The lamp was on, just as I’d left it when I’d
walked through the wall to find out why Escott wanted to interrupt my writing.
Had that happened only last night? I squinted at the neatly typed sheets as
though they were someone else’s property. They were. I felt quite different
from the earnest would-be writer that had typed them, different in that I
wasn’t feeling anything at all.
A tremor ran up my spine in the hot little room.
Bobbi’s photo smiled at me from the makeshift desk. It was a studio portrait,
done by the best in the city and glamoured up, though with Bobbi they didn’t
have to work very hard. She had one of those faces that the camera practically
makes love to; all she ever had to do for a drop-dead photo was to smile.
I started to pick it up for a closer look and noticed my hand was trembling.
I gripped it with the other, but it was just as out of control.
No regrets, remember?
The trembling spread from my hands to my arms and joined up with the tremor
in my back. I couldn’t seem to hold it down or stretch out of it.
No regrets, so why was every nerve in my body starting to scream? I rolled
onto the cot and its layer of earth and shook and shook and shook and never
once stopped until the sun came up at last and released me from the night’s
terrors.
Epilogue
THE FACT THAT it was a whole different night when I awoke was of absolutely
no comfort. It was still night, and some can be darker than others, as I’d
come to learn, and I was starting this one with my equivalent of a hangover.
My head and spine held fast to a residual ache and my muscles were cramped and
tired and stiff as a…
Go on and say it, since it’s true.
… corpse’s.
I thought of a lot of unpleasant replies for that nagging voice in my head,
but it hardly seemed worth the effort. If I felt bad, then no one could blame
me for wanting to groan.
When I finally dragged myself upstairs to the parlor, I found Escott
stretched out as usual on the couch smoking his pipe.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 154
“Are you all right?” he asked in his most neutral tone, but studying me
closely.
“Yes. I think I am, anyway.”
“You sound better.”
“How bad was I?”
“You were in some sort of shock. Last night your eyes looked like black pits
with nothing in them. Most disconcerting.”
Understatement was his specialty, but I didn’t want to spend any time going
over my troubles. Too much rehashing and they might come back on me. I dropped
into the leather chair by the radio and asked a few questions about the events
of the day and got an earful.
Soon after his arrival to view the smoking remains of Pierce’s guest house,
the cops came by with the bad news about Marian. Escott had gone with Pierce
to identify her body.
“How’s Mr. Pierce doing?”
“As can be expected, he’s carrying a heavy load of grief. It’s very hard for
him, since he doesn’t know all the details and I can hardly tell him. He will
find full enlightenment, perhaps, to be of little comfort.”
I couldn’t help but agree.
The warehouse murders had opened up a whole new line for Lieutenant Blair to
follow and he was good at his job. My efforts notwithstanding, he’d figured
that Hodge’s suicide had been a complete fake and was looking for the third
party who’d arranged it. Escott suggested burning the clothes I’d been wearing
at the time, especially the shoes. I’d left a fairly clear footprint behind.
That they might trace it to me was unlikely, but why take chances?
“What do they call it? Accessory after the fact, or aiding and abetting?” I
asked.
“I call it keeping a friend out of trouble.”
The back of my neck prickled. “Charles, I murdered the man. I had a choice,
and I chose to kill him.”
“And we’ve been down this road before and survived. Would you do it again
under the same circumstances?”
I dropped my eyes, giving him his answer.
“We may argue the fine distinctions between murder and execution if you like,
but it will eventually come out that you no more wish to turn yourself in over
this particular business than I do.”
“It’s just… just knowing that that kind of thing is inside me.”
“It’s in all of us, not just you. Last night you asked me why I did not take
that second shot at them. Believe me, I truly wanted to.”
“But you didn’t.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 155
“The idea was to get you out of there as quickly as possible. That was much
more important than killing Kyler. Perhaps I should have risked complications
at the time and done so, because there are sure to be more problems to come
from it.”
“Good God, he’s going to be coming after you with an army.”
“When he gets the time. At the moment he is far too occupied with avoiding
the authorities.”
The police had quickly traced the ownership of Kyler’s Cadillacs and were
trying to locate him to get an explanation of why they were parked in front of
a murder site. Blair was also starting to turn up connections between Marian
Pierce and Kyler and the gambling clubs he ran.
“I doubt much shall come of it, though.” Escott sighed. “Kyler wields a great
deal of power in this city, whether the city wants to admit it or not, and
he’s inherited some influential political allies from Frank Paco. There are
threads to connect him to Marian Pierce, but I fear they are not plentiful
enough or strong enough to twist into a rope for his neck.”
“We’re talking stalemate.”
“For the moment.” But he looked thoughtful.
“You thinking about the bracelet, Charles’?”
“Hmm.”
“Of using it somehow to nail him?”
“Somehow. But I haven’t quite decided just how. It will come in time. I’m
sure of it.”
Doreen was far from well, but the doctor was more optimistic than he’d been
last night. She’d regained consciousness long enough to state in no uncertain
terms who had shot her—and why. Though they couldn’t prove by paperwork that
the gun found in Marian’s purse had belonged to Stan McAlister, his
fingerprints were still on the bullets. The bullets taken from Doreen by the
surgeons were matched to the same gun. Since Blair’s original case against
Kitty Donovan was too flimsy to hold up, he was dropping it altogether and
backtracking Marian Pierce. His talk with Harry Summers more or less clinched
things.
Sebastian Pierce’s load of grief was proving to be very heavy, indeed.
Some of my own load lifted, though, at the news about Doreen. While he
lighted a pipe, I trotted upstairs and dressed. It didn’t take long and I was
coming down again, in my best suit and another pair of shoes. Last night’s
clothes were tied up in a bundle under my arm. I’d snipped off the laundry
marks and anything else I could think of and had stuffed those into a pocket.
On the way to the hospital I made several stops, twice at gas stations to
flush away labels, then I detoured over a bridge to scatter the buttons in the
river. The latter was the most difficult because of the water; the physical
discomfort reminded me of the warehouse, and the warehouse reminded me of
Hodge. I was glad to leave.
It was more luck than looking, but I found an incinerator still going at full
blast in a backyard junk pile close to the Stockyards. The air stank of
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 156
burning rubber and meat, but I was able to slip in and out without being
spotted. Invisibility has its advantages. Shoes and clothes safely disposed
of, I stopped next at the Stockyards and hoped that the drink I took there
would clear away the last of the aches.
Visiting hours weren’t quite over when I reached the hospital, but Doreen was
isolated from the other patients and the nurse was reluctant to let me do more
than look through a window set in the door. Dr. Rosinski was with Doreen and I
cornered him as he came out.
“She’s doing as well as can be expected,” he told me, which wasn’t saying
much. “So far there’s no infection, which is a very good sign, but it will be
awhile before she’s past all the risks.”
“Is she awake?”
“Partially. If you went in there, I doubt that she would really notice.”
“Then it’s all right if I go in?”
He could see that it was important to me, but the casual way he ordered up a
mask and gown left me with a bad feeling. Perhaps he was taking all the
precautions he could to help her, but he still didn’t think much of her
chances. He told me five minutes and repeated the same to the nurse.
Doreen looked smaller, more crushed somehow. Even the color of her hair was
muted. I said her name a few times and touched a limp, cold hand. She stirred
a little and her eyelids shivered open to half mast.
“Remember me, honey?”
The corner of her mouth curled slightly.
“No need to talk, I just came in to see how you were doing.”
I suddenly felt incredibly awkward. There was no way I could say all I needed
to say. I wanted to apologize to her like crazy, to tell her anything that
would make it all better again, but it was impossible. The disappointment was
a jolt; so much of a jolt that I finally realized why I was there. Sick as she
was, I’d come to her to get comfort, not give it; to try to clear my own
conscience at her expense.
The self-disgust I felt almost made me turn away, but I sat next to her and
held her hand and smiled, though she couldn’t see it through the gauze mask.
I kept up a one-sided conversation for another minute or so. Inane stuff, but
she seemed to be listening. That, or I was fooling myself again.
“You…”
Her whisper was so soft I had to bend close.
“… got away.”
“From Leadfoot Sam? Yeah, I got away. He won’t be bothering you, either.”
“Yeah?”
“Promise. He’s leaving you alone now. I made sure of it.”
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 157
“Thas’ good.” Her eyes closed and opened. “Cops get her?”
It took me a second to work out that she was referring to Marian. “Yeah, she
won’t be causing you any more trouble. You’re home free.” God, I hoped that
was true.
“What’s your name again?”
That threw me until I remembered I’d given her one name and Sam another.
“Jack.”
“Then thanks, Jack.”
I said you’re welcome and left it at that.
“You got a nice girl home?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
She smiled a little. “Treat her good, huh? You… you’re good people.”
“I’m glad you think so, honey.”
“Don’ tell ‘er ‘bout us,“ she slurred out, her eyes drifting shut. ”You’re
the kind to c’nfess, you don’ wanna do that. Not to her.“
“Doreen—”
“Lissen to me, I been there m’self. You tell her an’ it’ll change things. I
know. If you got somethin’ good, don’ screw it up.”
I wondered just how much she did know or remember about those few moments in
her cold studio. Apparently it was a pleasant memory.
“Yeah, honey, I promise. You just rest for now and I’ll take care of things
for you.”
And so on, until she was asleep again.
***
I’d gone in for comfort, decided against seeking it, and got it anyway.
Doreen was some woman and I’d keep my promise to her. Not all confessions are
good for the soul; some can even tear them apart. The last thing I ever wanted
to do was to bring more grief to Bobbi’s life, so I would be silent. I knew
now that I could visit her tonight and feel comfortable about it.
The hospital parking lot was fairly empty as I walked out into the brisk air.
In a few more minutes I’d trade it for the lot at the Top Hat Club and sneak
in once again by the stage entrance to her dressing room. After that, I’d try
resuming my life again.
I pulled into the street and stepped on the gas. In the rearview mirror I
chanced to look back, and saw a silent Cadillac with smoke-dark windows doing
the same.
Snake. I thought, and my hands began to tremble.
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 158
Wyszukiwarka
Podobne podstrony:
PN Elrod [Vampire Files 07] A Chill in the Blood v1 2 (BD)
PN Elrod [Vampire Files 04] Art in the Blood v1 1 (BD)
PN Elrod [Vampire Files 11] Song In The Dark v2 0 (BD)
PN Elrod Vampire Files 04 Art In The Blood
PN Elrod Vampire Files 04 Art In The Blood
PN Elrod [Vampire Files 08] The Dark Sleep v1 1 (BD)
PN Elrod [Vampire Files 06] Blood on the Water v1 1 (BD)
PN Elrod [Vampire Files 01] Bloodlist v1 2 (BD)
PN Elrod [Vampire Files 10] Cold Streets v1 1 (BD)
PN Elrod [Vampire Files 09] Lady Crymsyn v1 2 (BD)
PN Elrod [Vampire Files 02] Lifeblood v1 2 (BD)
PN Elrod [Vampire Files 03] Bloodcircle v1 2 (BD)
Fire in the Blood P N Elrod
Jo Clayton SS1 Fire in the Sky
The Fire in the Forging Tamora Pierce
Holly Lisle Fire In The Mist
Hathaways 05 Love in the Afternoon
Lisle, Holly Arhel 1 Fire in the Mist
Lorne Rodman Fire In The Hole
więcej podobnych podstron